Witchblade: Blood Lines
by Lady Cailin
Summary: Alt. Season Two. An accident reveals to Sara the events of the previous continuum, and a whole lot of things she didn’t know about the Witchblade, her past, her future, and the blood that binds them all.
1. Perseverance

Witchblade: Blood Lines   
(An Alternate Season Two/ Alternate Reality Fanfiction)  
by Lady Cailin  


Summary: Alt. Season Two. An accident reveals to Sara the events of the previous continuum, and a whole lot of things she didn't know about the Witchblade, her past, her future, and the blood that binds them all. 

Disclaimer: Witchblade and related materials are copyright Time Warner, TNT, Top Crow, and subsequent companies. This Fan Fiction was not produced, and is not intended to be reproduced, for profit. No infringement of said copyrights is intended by the author and should certified officials of Time Warner, TNT or Top Crow view this, then author would like to demand a third season. Thank You.

CHAPTER ONE: Perseverance

  
  


Sara Pezzini jerked back in the seat of her partner's car, her heart hammering in her chest as he reached for the door handle. She sucked in a strangled breath and reached out blindly to grasp his arm and stop him. The sense of danger flooded her body, humming warm and fast through her veins.

"Pez? Whats wrong?" Danny frowned intently, his hand drifting from the door handle to touch the fingers that griped his arm tightly. The tension eased slightly, when he turned his attention away from Jimmy Gallo, entering the Rialto, and she found she could breath again. Everything in her had screamed not to let Danny get out of the car.

_Always trust your instincts baby, any good cop does._

Pop had always had little pieces of advice like that.

They were outside of the Rialto theater staking out Jimmy Gallo, the man who had killed her father and more recently, one of her friends. Maria. Sara frowned, her grip on Danny's arm loosening. Why did she feel so distant. . .so out of it all of the sudden? 

_Red. Blood. Danny lying on the ground and his blood seeping out around him. Bullets. Dark eyes. Flashing lights. Blood and Blade and a scream from her soul. _

"Pez?" Danny asked again, starting to look even more worried, "Whats up?"

"I changed my mind Danny, thats all." She reached over and turned the keys for him, the engine revving up with a shudder of complaint for the cold New York weather. Danny just gave her that same old 'your crazy Pez' look he loved to give her. One eyebrow raised, the forehead scrunched, mouth hanging open in confusion She'd seen that look a thousand times, and hoped to see it a thousand more. She closed her eyes briefly, the image of Gallo with his gun pointed at Danny flashing through her mind once more. Her heart continued to beat a loud melody to the tune of 'lets get out of here' as she fingered the bracelet on her wrist, finding a strange comfort in the action.

Danny continued to look at her in concern, and she forced a small smile to lift the corners of her mouth. Only this morning she had been insistent on nailing Gallo, and now she was acting like all she wanted to do was get the hell out of here and away from the stakeout that might take him down. Had it only just been this morning? It felt like longer. . .

"Don't worry Danny. We've got time."

Danny nodded once, but hesitated before turning his attention to pulling his aging car away from the Rialto. Sara turned her eyes to the world outside her window, the cold and gray world of New York in winter. She could feel the bitter cold coming off the windows and latched on to the sensation. It made her feel less. . .spacy. She felt something tug at her senses, and scanned the horizon around them. Dried up trees with iron fencing around them scattered the edges of the sidewalk. Faded blue postboxes with frost on the lids and the half melted clumps of last weeks snow flurry. Her eyes only just made out the figure of a man standing utterly still in a nearby alley, draped in shadows too dark for this time of day. He looked at her for one long moment as the car pulled from the curb, and then melted back into them, his eyes lowered in a gesture that seemed all too familiar.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Time."

* * *

Ian stood motionless, wide shoulders curled forward and dark head bowed in submission before his master, his father. Kenneth Irons. 

"What went wrong Ian?" The cultured tones of Irons voice smoothed over him, civilized and yet cruelly sharp. He was not pleased. Ian lowered his head a fraction of an inch more.

"It seems Sara Pezzini did not react as planned, sir." Ian thought back to that moment as her partner's car pulled away, when Sara had looked at him through glass and shadows. Boldly, directly, as if she had known he was there. She had fingered the Witchblade in an almost soothing manor. Perhaps she had indeed known he was there.

"Then the question falls to why." Irons murmured, his lips tightening into a thin line of irritation. Ian again thought of the way Sara had held the Witchblade, and the way she had looked at him.

"Perhaps she sensed the danger of the situation through her connection with the Witchblade. It could be protecting her." Ian offered this suggestion hesitantly, and was rewarded with a sharp look from his master.

"Such idle speculation has no place in this conversation. Sara Pezzini must use the Witchblade. She must bond with it through violence." Irons finely manicured hands drummed thoughtfully on the arm of his chair, his other hand fingering a gold time piece. The silence stretched once more in the room, and Ian lowered his head, waiting for the latest plan to roll off Irons tongue, attached to his orders. He was not long in waiting. Irons voice was cool and composed once more as he turned to Ian, leaning back into the cushioned leather of his chair. A small smile graced the corners of his mouth.

"Perhaps it is time we sent the snake after the lioness," he mused aloud, his fingers curling around the cool metal of the watch. His gaze then shifted to Ian, and noted the new tension in the younger man's hands. "Take care of the other matter, and watch her closely Ian. I do not have another thirty years to wait for a new Wielder to emerge." Ian bowed his head slightly in acknowledgment, but didn't move as he sensed Irons eyes still on him, watching too closely. There was something else. 

He would be questioned.

"The detective is very beautiful Ian." Ian remained silent and still, his eyes darting back and forth as his mind raced, searching for the path this line would take. His master would never have kept him here for such a casual comment. There was something more.

"She reminds me so much of Elizabeth." Ian was careful not to move, to reveal nothing. He lowered his head that fraction more once, acknowledging the statement for what it was: A warning. A reminder.

Blood of my Blood.

"You may go Ian." 

He must not forget.

* * *

Ian pulled back into the shadows, watching the Asian assassin enter the building to the right of the one that held Sara Pezzini's apartment. The man was second rate, unworthy of even attempting to take the Wielder's life. Ian turned down the alley next to the building, his steps quick and silent, every movement measured before it was taken. The lock on the door which opened into the building to the right of that the assassin had taken made only a barely audible click as it gave under his handling, and his footsteps couldn't be heard ascending the flights of stairs that lead up to the roof.

The assassin was there on the adjacent roof, and Sarah's apartment lay beyond. The man was only just beginning to piece together his riffle, and Sara would not be home for another half an hour. Ian easily jumped the gap between the two buildings, taking advantage of the man's preoccupation with the riffle and assurance of his own safety. Truly unworthy of Sara.

Ian had never met a worthy opponent before Sara Pezzini. He could understand what attracted the blade to the detective. She was fearless, passionate, strong, and yet acutely vulnerable. Ian pulled behind the entrance to the roof, watching the assassin in silence. Mr. Irons had been right to warn him. He had become too preoccupied with observing the detective. He had begun to admire her. Admiration could be dangerous in this situation, and Ian had begun to fear that admiration was not all he held for her. It was a knowledge that damned him.

Blood of my blood.

She was beautiful, a woman in her prime. A warrior waiting to ascend to greatness. Ian moved quickly, snapping the man's neck and throwing him aside just as Sara had her jacket upon entering her apartment. He glanced through the scope, watching as she moved to start the coffee pot. It took a few minutes for her to move over to the window. Minutes filled with the silence of the rooftop and the cold of the evening air. But she wandered over as she always did, watching the streets she fought so hard to protect with a cup in her hand and a vacant look in her eyes. So much strength, and yet so very vulnerable was his Sara.

He closed his eyes, an ache welling within him. Not his Sara. He must remember. It was wrong, sick and twisted and she would loath him if she knew. As he loathed himself.

Blood of my blood.

Ian fingered the trigger lightly as he had a hundred times before, the feel of a single tear trail cool against his skin as he withdrew, leaving the broken gunman and his weapon as a message. Mr. Irons had not requested such enthusiasm in protection of the Wielder, but Ian was glad to give it. Even as he told himself he must guard against the emotions that caused it.

* * *

Kenneth leaned back into his seat as Ian entered the room, the slide of the doors the only indication that he was no longer alone. Silent, deadly, easily directed. Ian Nottingham was everything Kenneth could have wished for in a wielder, and everything Sara Pezzini was not. She was proving to be difficult to manipulate even at this early stage. But then, perhaps he had become spoiled by the ease with which pretenders were controlled and manipulated. He might look on this as a challenge. His first real challenge in over thirty years.

Kenneth didn't bother speaking to Ian for confirmation that Mr. Gallo's little henchman had been taken care of. Ian was nothing if not well trained. He would not have returned if his mission were incomplete. Kenneth picked up the phone casually, his every movement conducted with the lazy grace of a man well bred and rich. He pressed a button and waited in silence for Gallo to pick up the phone.

"Mr. Gallo."

"Mr. Irons. It's a pleasure as always." The voice was slightly nervous, and Kenneth couldn't help the small smile that raised one corner of his mouth. 

"I'm afraid your foreign friend has been unsuccessful." He waited a moment for the words to sink in, and was rewarded with the delightful vocabulary of the Brooklyn born Gallo. 

"You know how important this matter is to your future in this city. Might I suggest you take a more personal approach to this problem?" He intoned, making his point clear. Gallo quickly fired of a response, assuring Irons that he would take care of it all personally.

"Excellent Mr. Gallo. Good night." He slipped the phone back into place, smiling to himself and idly stroking the marks the Witchblade had left on his right hand so many years ago. As a matter of principle Kenneth never said anything incriminating over the phone. Ian's security measures were impeccable when it came to the privacy of his own line, but not everyone had Ian. Gallo was being watched, and not just by New York officials. Kenneth glanced at Ian and noted the tension lining his body before the other man could force it away. 

"Watch her, and report back to me when she has used the Witchblade." Ian's head bowed fractionally in response to the order, and Kenneth eyed him for a long moment more before dismissing him with a silent wave of his pale hands.

* * *

Gallo snapped the phone shut, resisting the urge to hurl it out the window. That damn foreign piece he'd hired hadn't gotten the job done. He never should have gone out of town for this one. He should have done it himself from the beginning. Damn Sara Pezzini. Damn Irons too, that rich bastard, treating him like some dog who didn't know how to fetch.

He turned on the two men riding with him. Vespucchi and DeAngelo. They were both dark and large, muscle he'd hired not long after that guy of Irons had sent half his boys to the hospital. All to set up a meeting. If he just had some guys like that one, then he'd get some work done around this town. 

"Tomorrow night you two are bringing me Pezzini. Not even a miracle is going to save that bitch this time."

* * *

"I'm just saying its not like you, thats all," Danny continued, following Sara through the door of their office as she stormed in and started removing her jacket with short, angry movements. He closed the door behind them so the whole precinct wouldn't be in on this little squabble. He sat down behind his desk and watched her in silence as she just stood there, looking confused and more then a bit frustrated. Sara finally pulled her hands roughly through her hair and sat down on top of her desk, facing him.

"It just didn't feel right Danny. Last time it didn't feel right. . ." Her voice wandered off and she turned her face away.

". . .Your Dad, I know," he finished for her so she wouldn't have to get the words out. "It just seemed strange is all. One minute your gung-ho about going in and bringing down Gallo. The next your turning tail and-" 

Sara's head snapped up and she glared at him, her eyes flashing in that 'You had better not finish that sentence Danny' way they had. He was almost convinced she'd developed that one especially for him, she gave it to him so often. Then again, he was one of the few who had the guts to push it for her own good.

"I did not turn tail." She ground out, her jaw working. She punctuated the statement with another sharp look of warning.

"Okay, okay." Danny held up his hands. He also had the smarts to know when to back off. Maybe he shouldn't push it right now. She'd had a tough couple of months. First her dad, then Maria. She was carrying around a whole lot of guilt mixed up with grief and memories these days. Plus that whole thing at the Museum downtown. It was weird to think how close he had come to losing a partner that day. 

"I should know better then to question your womanly instincts before you've had your coffee," he joked, offering her his 'truce' smile. She returned it, and the tension melted away easily. No more questions today. Just work and coffee, and training the rookie. 

"McCartney's with us today," he reminded her while he pored out two cups of coffee, earning a groan as she sat down. He grinned, deciding the truce didn't mean no teasing. After all, it was Pez, how was he supposed to restrain himself?

"Hey I thought you liked the little surfer boy, him being a good kid and all." Pez smiled slightly, although he thought it was more because of the coffee he was handing her then the joke. 

"You were the one who said he was hot Danny," Sara said, arching one eyebrow at him as he took a sip of his own coffee. Danny felt the liquid go down the wrong way immediately, and set down the cup before he managed to scald his lap on top of his already burning esophagus. He wiped at his mouth and gave her a mock glare.

"I never said he was hot. I said Ricki Martin was hot. Watch what you say around here Pez, you could get me in trouble with the wife."

* * *

Sara pulled her bike through the last turn before her block, almost sad to see it. Being on her bike was a good way to think, or not to think, whichever mood she was in. She could sit back and let the speed take her away from it all, or she could use it to focus everything. Tonight it had been nice to forget the world around her during the drive home. She'd taken some back roads and managed to avoid most of the traffic that typically congested the city, and then she'd let the feel of the wind calm her ragged nerves.

All in all it had been a pretty normal day. Mostly paperwork and patrolling with Danny and the rookie. It should have made her feel better. Instead the strange feeling of everything being. . .off, had persisted. It had been there since yesterday, and she'd been questioning her actions because of it. Danny hadn't helped this morning with all that probing, and those looks like he knew she wasn't telling him something. Which she wasn't, because saying it out loud meant she had jumped from being in the process of losing her mind, into the very undesired state of having already completely lost her mind. 

She'd been having dreams and urges that didn't feel like her own. . . and what she thought she remembered happening in the Downtown Museum. . .it was all crazy. She was going crazy, and she refused to think about it any more. Sara pulled into the parking lot that had been more or less designated for her building, and then into the spot she had claimed years ago for her bike. She jerked off her helmet fiercely, angry with herself for having ruined the calm brought on by her ride home. Then it happened again.

A flash of a voice without words, an urge not her own. It was like fire coming alive in her blood, and it was warning her:

_Danger._

A gloved hand holding a white cloth came over her mouth from behind, another hand restraining her as a strange smell hit her from the cloth. She immediately resisted the urge to breath in, struggling against the giant behind her. Another man stepped in front of her. He was dark, big, but she didn't know him. 

The Voice reached out again, still very distant as she struggled, trying to tell her something. Something important. She ignored it, trying to remember her training as her body began to feel heavy, her head light. The man in front of her smiled as her eyes gave up on the struggle against the dizziness overwhelming her.

"Mr. Gallo's got plans for you tonight Detective." His grin waved in front of her vision, and then it was gone. 

Along with everything else.

* * *

Her eyes were slow to focus in the variation between shadows and light of the alleyway. There were voices talking around her, deep and accented by the Bronx. But they weren't what woke her up. It was the Voice beneath her skin, running in her blood. The one from the museum, whispering to her to wake up, get up.

_Fight._

Sara concentrated hard and the figures around her came into focus despite the pounding in her head. She felt like she was going the throw up all over those nice leather shoes the big guy to her right was wearing. His buddy was leaning on the wall across from her, looking bored in the dim light coming off the grime covered street lamp above her. Stairs fell into darkness to her left, down into another street, another alley that smelled like garbage. She shifted slowly, testing the ropes around her hands.

She heard a sound to her right and turned her head slowly to watch as a man stepped out of a car that had stopped in front of the entrance to the alley. The two thugs with her stood to attention as the smaller man turned towards them, straightening his coat and gloves and smoothing back his hair before making his way into the darkness.

Gallo.

Sara sat up slightly as clipped steps brought him closer to where she leaned against the bricks. She pushed her back against the wall subtly, feeling the stiff holster at her side cave in. Empty. She tried not to panic. These weren't Gallo's usual boys, and there was a possibility they weren't as thorough. They'd taken her main piece, but that didn't mean they'd found her secondary. Gallo came close, towering over her with a smile that was deformed and made monstrous by shadows warring with the bright light above them. She tipped back her head to look him in the eye. The movement allowed her shoulders to drop slightly, the extra inch needed for her bound hands to graze the side of her left boot and check. 

No gun.

Her jaw tightened and Gallo motioned one of the thugs to pull her to her feet. He noticed the ropes around her wrists immediately, and frowned.

"Untie her. What the hell are you, a fucking idiot?" Gallo asked, smacking the side of the larger man's arm as he went to work on Sara's hand. He looked at Sara with a sort of a smile, as if sharing his troubles with her.

"These guys got no idea how we do business around here. How are they gonna file you away as a mugging if you got ropes on?" He pulled a gun casually as he spoke, and the thug kept a good hold on Sara's arm when her muscles tensed in response. The Voice whispered again, stronger and more insistent, but it was as if it was being restrained, held behind a veil. Her right arm tingle in response to it, and she clenched and unclenched her hand in the darkness.

"Guess its hard to find good help these days, huh Gallo?" she scratched out, her voice horse and her throat burning from whatever it was they had used to drug her. She raised one eyebrow and used that tone she saved just for him, the one that let him know she saw just what type of filth he was. Gallo's mouth tightened slightly as he waved with the gun, and the thug pushed her in front of the stairs so that she was facing Gallo as he continued to speak.

"I got a lot of memories of this alley Pezzini," he told her as he popped in a new clip. He smiled as he looked up at her, like he was relishing this moment, and the ones that had come before. "I gave your old pops the double tap in this alley."

The Voice rushed through her, roaring to be heard, but she couldn't make out the words, as if they weren't for her. She didn't care what they were. Gallo had killed her father. Rage, pure and unadulterated, welled within her, and she took a half step towards him.

Gallo smiled again as he raised the gun.

"You're a lot like him bella. He didn't beg either."

Suddenly someone was there. In the instant before Gallo pulled the trigger a man melted from the shadows around them, a man Sara recognized. That day in the museum, and after that in the alley across from the Rialto. . .and in her dreams. . 

Gallo pulled the trigger without hesitation. The Voice welled up inside her again at that moment and this time it was clear, sharp.

_Wait._

Everything grew heavy and out of focus, time seemed to slow down for Sara in that moment as she watched the bullet leave the chamber. She watched recognition, and a kind of panic hit Gallo's face as he looked at the man in front of her. She watched the bullet rip through the man's shoulder and head towards her. She moved forward and to the right, reaching out for him.

_Now._

Time sped back up with a sudden jerk to her senses. The man hadn't yet fallen to the ground before the bullet hit Sara, but she caught his eyes in that moment. Eyes that were familiar, watching her with concern. She saw a flash of the same man standing with arms spread in a warehouse, taking bullets she knew were meant for her. . .

Then the bullet that had passed through him hit her left shoulder, and the world exploded behind her eyes.

_Flames. The Rialto. A stone angel. Danny's funeral. A man in armor walking towards her. Nottingham. Snakes. A man with pale hair. Kenneth Irons showing her the mark on his hand. A man lying beside her in bed. Conchobar, silent, dead. The man in armor again, throwing out his arms and becoming Nottingham as the bullets took him. Ice. Elizabeth Bronte lying in a moment of frozen grace. A skull. Nottingham, but not Nottingham, they were fighting, and he was dead on her blade. Her blade. _

The Witchblade.

Sara's eyes flew open and the gauntlet responded immediately, covering the hand that reached for the railing to her right, keeping her from falling down the stairs behind her and into the darkness beyond. She jerked herself back up, crouching down as the blade hummed on her hand. Her breathing was the only sound in the shocked silence of the alley for a moment

Sara looked up at Gallo through the wave of dark hair that fell into her eyes. His goons were a few steps behind him, looking even more stunned then he was. She stood slowly, and Gallo took a step back, his eyes fixed on the Blade and its Wielder. She let it slide from the gauntlet, its satisfaction at being released pulsing through her. She remembered. 

She remembered _everything._

Gallo started firing immediately, the hiss of his silencer repeating in the darkness as Sara advanced, swatting the bullets away with a cold determination in her eyes. He emptied his clip quickly, and the goons charged. The Voice, familiar and strong now, spoke.

_Attack._

Yes, she agreed, and swung the gauntlet at the one to her right, knocking him back against the brick wall. Her blood rushed and everything seemed to rage into a wild type of focus in those moments. She could hear the click and slide of the second's switchblade like a crack of thunder on a silent night. She could smell his blood as the Witchblade responded and slid into his stomach. She could feel the change in the world around her as the first recovered and attempted to attack her from behind. The Blade ripped through him as she turned.

It was the look of shock on his face that brought her back to herself, made her realize what she'd done. What it had done. That damn this was egging her on just like last time, and she was letting it. She willed the blade back into the gauntlet, despite the Voice, which still hissed danger and the battle.

She could do this one on her own.

Sara turned on Gallo, pulling out the handcuffs they hadn't bothered to take from her. He backed away, towards the sole light in the alley, as if that might protect him from her.

"What the hell are you?" he asked, his voice shaky.

She reached out the gauntlet and smacked aside the empty gun from his hand, where it had hung limply in disbelief. She picked him off his feat, her eyes cold as he began to gasp for air, bringing him close so he could hear her words over the sound of his own struggle for breath.

"Justice."

She turned and threw him on the ground by the railing, snapping the cuffs in place to hold him to its rusted length. 

"Your under arrest, Gallo," she told him simply, and began to ramble off his rights, looking around the alley as she did so. No sign of Nottingham. Typical. She touched her shoulder where the bullet had entered. Damn thing was still in there. She'd have to go to the hospital to have them dig it out.

"Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?" She asked as she got back to Gallo, smiling tightly at him.

"Sure Pezzini. But your crazy if you think I don't got ways out of this one." He shot back, trying to look smug while surrounded by the smell of garbage and wet street filth. She smirked back.

"Yeah, but I got a bullet in my shoulder's gonna make it real hard for you Tommy." She reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, not really wanting to go back to search the other two for her own. 

"Mind if I borrow this?"

* * *

Kenneth Irons stood before the window of his office, observing the New York City skyline. The door hissed twice behind him, noting the entrance of Ian Nottingham, there to tell him something he already knew: Sara had used the Witchblade. His blood was still humming with the power she had exhibited. It had been magnificent. The Witchblade had controlled her, and Sara then had controlled the Witchblade in turn.

He wasn't sure which development he was more pleased with.

The fact that the Witchblade had been able to influence Sara meant that she could be influenced, a trait he found very advantageous to his purposes. It was disappointing that she had regained control, but again a desirable trait. If she could not control the Witchblade, then as a Wielder Sara would be useless to him.

Kenneth focused on the reflection of Ian visible in the glass before him and away from the site of New York at night. He was silent and still as always, but his right hand was held to his shoulder. Kenneth turned, examining the younger man more closely. Blood slipped through Ian's gloved fingers and trailed down his shirt. The flow had already slowed, but it was obvious what had happened. He could barely believe what he was seeing.

"You were shot Ian?" he questioned. Ian's dark head lowered.

"I was careless," he answered, as if this were some sort of explanation. Ian was never careless. He had not been trained for carelessness. He had been trained as the perfect scalpel, Kenneth's weapon. Ian then looked up hesitantly, his eyes wide with a excited glow behind their dark depths.

"She was magnificent," he whispered.

"Yes, I can imagine it was quite a sight to behold. That much raw power. . . " Kenneth found himself smiling, the memory of those moments echoing through him again. Yes, he could understand how young Nottingham had been captivated by such a sight. He would be lenient, this time. He tried to look stern, but was sure the excitement of the night shown in his own eyes. 

"Go see the doctor for your wound Ian. You will be expected to put in extra hours to insure you are never this careless again." Kenneth waved him away, turning back to the skyline and his own thoughts. Ian's head bowed low once in the reflection before he disappeared, only the hiss of the doors to mark his exit.

* * *

"Pez? Hey Pez, you there?" Danny repeated again, one hand hesitantly touching her arm. Sara blinked and looked up into the eyes of her concerned partner. He came into focus slowly as too many thoughts and memories faded and the reality of the hospital returned. Danny Woo's dark eyes stared back at her. Danny.

Danny was alive. 

Sara nodded quickly, and then on impulse reached out and pulled him into a hug. The tears filled her eyes almost immediately. She had seen him yesterday, and the day before, but with all these memories crowding her head, it suddenly felt like forever. It took her partner a moment to respond and hug her back, but when he did, it was worth having all the memories of when he couldn't. Danny was _alive._

She pulled away after a moment, and Danny patted her on the back as she swatted at tears.

"They told me he confessed to you about. . ." he started, and she nodded quickly. Danny took it as the reason she was upset and left it at that. She smiled at him as soon as she got the tears under control, and he smiled back.

"So you here to give me a ride home partner?" she asked, reaching for her jacket and pretending not to see the pointed look he gave to the bloody bandage wrapped around her left shoulder. She pulled on the leather carefully and then gave him an expectant look. He caved under it fairly easily for Danny. He must be glad to have her alive.

"Yeah, I guess so. Are you sure it's a good idea to-"

"Yes," she cut him off. "I need to be home Danny, in my own bed."

He must have been glad to have her alive. He only nodded, and pulled out his keys.

The trip home was uneventful except for a hug of his own Danny started right outside her door. He gave her a look after he pulled away, and she smiled at him before he disappeared down the stairs and out into the street again. Just like that, no words needed between the two of them. They'd been partners that long, and friends even longer. Life wouldn't be the same for either of them without the other.

It hadn't been for her, without Danny.

Sara turned after that thought and unlocked the door with a rattle of keys that was too loud for the silent stairways. She'd been trying not to focus on what had happened yet, too afraid she'd get lost in some vision or memory from . . .Hell, she didn't even know what to call it. It wasn't the past because it had never happened. It was the now. The could-have-been. The almost-was. Sara rubbed at the front of her forehead and threw her jacket across the back of a chair, falling a few inches backward against the door and closing it behind her. The pain killers they'd given her must of kicked in, because her shoulder didn't so much as twinge. Sara leaned against the for a minute, watching the shadows of her apartment. 

It only took her a moment in the silence to decide what she was going to do. She'd never had much use for Scarlet O'Hara or the old southern belle routine, but she was going to take a page out of that woman's book.

She was going to think about it tomorrow.

Sara pulled and tugged at clothing as she made her way towards her bed, trying not to move her left shoulder. She managed to shed enough along her path to make herself fairly comfortable by the time she reached her bed. She chucked the pills onto her side table and climbed into the mountain of down comforter and wrinkled sheets. She was careful to stay on her right side, curling her body around a pillow, her habit since Conchobar had died.

But he wasn't dead.

Sara pushed the thought away quickly, hugging her pillow tighter and willing sleep to claim her. It was unnaturally compliant tonight, and the heavy oblivion took her quickly.

The moments of nothing were short lived, and Sara opened her eyes to the sight of a barren landscape before dawn. Large trees scattered the horizon, their leaves gone and their outlines a play of shadows and the red light of the pre-dawn. She turned in a circle once, taking in her surrounding. The last step brought her up short. 

A woman stood before her, one Sara had never seen before. Dark hair curled down her back, meeting with a black dress that curved to her body dangerously. Sara didn't recognize her face, which was perhaps what startled her the most. Everyone she had encountered within the Witchblade had been. . .herself.

"Who are you?" Sara asked. Her voice seemed strange on the windless planes, too loud for the moment, too real. The woman smile, a slow process that barely razed the corners of her mouth.

"I am the Other." her voice was fine, cultured and accented by another continent. That amused smile faded easily as she wandered over to the nearest tree, leaning against its length. Sara frowned at her, following.

"The other what?" she barked, catching the woman's dark eyes again. They were familiar in a strange way, and she wanted to place them, wanted answers before all the questions piled up and crushed her.

"The other wielder," the woman answered, the smile flitting across her lips again, like a butterfly not sure it wanted to land "The second branch of our prestigious family tree."

Sara took a step back, shock rippling through her, and the woman took that moment to push off from the tree and advance on her. Her steps were measured and slow, as if she were trying not to spook a wild animal.

"Throughout time there have always been two true wielders Sara, and a host of pretenders and shadows in between." she spoke calmly, softly, and when she reached out for the edge of Sara's shirt to draw it back she didn't struggle. The woman bared the twin circles resting on Sara's chest, the mark Irons had once told her represented the light and dark sides of the Witchblade. She then pulled back the side of her own dress, showing Sara where she bore the same mark. 

"We are there to balance one another even as the Witchblade balances the world."

Her expression was strangely blank as she watched the look of shock on Sara's face and stepped back again, her hands falling to her sides. Sara blinked, her hand flying up to touch the mark on her chest, still not really believing this was happening. 

"Why two?" her voice was hoarse, but still too forceful for the quiet of this world. 

"One for justice. One for . . .a different brand of justice." she hesitated over the words, as if considering the most delicate way to put it. Sara's eyes hardened at the implications and all traces of shock disappeared. 

"So you're what, a dark wielder?" Silence stretched for a moment as the woman moved back to the tree and lazily ran one hand across it's rough surface, as if simply testing the texture for the pleasure of it. Finally, she met Sara's gaze once more and nodded slowly, her head tilted to one side.

"If that is the way you would like to think of it, then yes Sara. I am the dark to your light."

Sara shook her head at that half answer. Then again, when was the last time she'd actually had a full answer about this thing? She turned her back on the woman abruptly as frustration welled within her. The damn thing just loved to play with her. Every time she found an answer it raised a new question. Every time she thought she had things figured out, it turned her world upside down again. And now, another Wielder. Why? Why now? Sara turned sharply and met the other woman's calm gaze, her own eyes blazing.

"I don't understand why you're here. The Witchblade never showed me any other line of wielder before. They've always. . ." she faltered, grasping for her real question, the real reason this was bothering her. "They've always been me."

"You had never joined your blood with that of my line before now Sara." The woman whispered, her eyes intent on Sara's face. Sara glared at her.

"What do you mean join my blood? I haven't joined with anyone since-" 

The woman cut her off with a loud laugh that carried on the sudden breeze sweeping the plains of the landscape around them. Her hair whipped in the wind and she wound down to a smile, looking too amused as the winds grew stronger.

"You were ever the impatient one weren't you? Give it time Sara, and the answer will come to you."

And then when she least wanted it to, oblivion took her once more.

* * *

NEXT CHAPTER: Sara meets Irons again and turns to her dreams for answers to a question that has been plaguing her: Who is Ian Nottingham? Meanwhile, the Black Dragons watch from the shadows, and Jake gets a new partner.

NOTE ON TNT WITCHBLADE TIMELINE:

"But Lady Cailin," you say "there isn't any room for a second line of wielders in the TNT time line."

Indeed dear reader. But you will also note that nothing about the TNT time line relates to the show in any way. Please refer to the bellow evidence:

1. In the episode Conundrum Elizabeth Brontes granddaughter, Karen Bronte, clearly states that being a spy is what got her grandmother killed. In the TNT time line it states that Elizabeth was killed in a land slide while traveling the world with Kenneth Irons several years after the end of WWII. 

Possible explanations:  
a) Elizabeth was spying on Kenneth for some reason (keeping in mind that this is supposedly before he amassed most of his wealth according to the TNT time line.)   
b) the TNT time line was written separately from the show and therefore, should not be applied to it.  


2. Kenneth says he doesn't think he has another thirty years to wait for another wielder to come along. Elizabeth, supposedly the last true wielder, died around 1950. Assuming we're sticking to the date of 2000 shown in the book next to 11/11 for Sara, this is a good deal more than thirty years. 

Possible explanations:  
a) He is referring to any wielder, not just a true one. It is possible, although highly doubtful, that the pretender Dominique Boushere held the Witchblade from 1959- 1970. Thus making his thirty year statement valid.   


_Counter argument_: If he was looking for just any old wielder, he wouldn't have been concerned with waiting. He would have picked out a pretender to wear the blade for him. He was referring to waiting for a true wielder who could become the blood supply he needed to extend his life.

b) the TNT time line was written separately from the show and therefore, should not be applied to it.  


3. In the TNT time line it is said that Kenneth cut off Elizabeth's hand in order to remove the Witchblade. However, in multiple shows we have seen the preserved body of Elizabeth Brontes, with her right hand perfectly intact. As well of the rest of her. Last time I checked, being crushed by a landslide was not one of the pretty ways to die. 

My point? The TNT time line is completely useless, don't pay attention to it. I certainly don't anymore.


	2. Foresight

Witchblade: Blood Lines   
(An Alternate Season Two/ Alternate Reality Fanfiction)  
by Lady Cailin  


Summary: Alt. Season Two. An accident reveals to Sara the events of the previous continuum, and a whole lot of things she didn't know about the Witchblade, her past, her future, and the blood that binds them all. 

Disclaimer: Witchblade and related materials are copyright Time Warner, TNT, Top Crow, and subsequent companies. This Fan Fiction was not produced, and is not intended to be reproduced, for profit. No infringement of said copyrights is intended by the author and should certified officials of Time Warner, TNT or Top Crow view this, then the author would like to ascert herself as a loyal viewer and demand a third season and/or the syndication of the first two seasons of Witchblade. Thank You.

Author's Note: My apologies on the long wait. I actually had this chapter finished a month ago, but my poor Beta reader got berried by that evil institution we like to call 'College'. She's doing better now, she's even stopped trying to bludgeon herself unconscious every time she sees a text book. We've got high hopes that she's going to be one of the lucky ones that survives. Incidently, to take some of the pressure off of her, I'm looking for a second Beta. Anyone willing should be prepared for chapters that generally run about fifteen to twenty pages, with two chapters a month. Please email me at animeromantic@yahoo.com.

CHAPTER TWO: Foresight 

  
  


Sara pulled into the parking garage across from Voschlag Industries, receiving several looks from employees returning from their lunch hours as she cut the engine of her bike and pulled off her helmet. It was cold again today and the air slipping in past the collar of her leather jacket sent a shiver down her spine. Or maybe it was being this close to facing Irons again that did it. She still had her doubts about this. She'd rather avoid the bastard all together, but her dad had always said that if you let a sleeping dog lie, he'd probably bite you in the ass when you least expected it. Pop hadn't exactly had a way with words, but she knew he was right. If she ignored Irons then he'd inevitably make trouble. He wasn't going to just let her walk with the Witchblade. He wanted it too much.

It was Monday again, and she'd taken time off on account of the hole in her shoulder. She should be in bed resting, but instead she was out here in the cold, about to storm gates as it were. She just hadn't been able to lay there one minute longer thinking about the visions and all the things that had happened, that might still happen. So she'd scrapped together a vague plan and headed over here to confront Irons and find out what he was up to this time.

Sara pushed open the door of the lobby and headed up the series of twisted stair cases towards the elevators. She forced a smile at one of the suites who entered the elevator with her, looking her black leather and jeans up and down. Sara pushed the button for the top floor where she knew she'd find Irons office. She'd always hated this building. It was cold, twisted and unnatural. Like Irons himself. The doors opened swiftly at the last floor and Sara walked out and towards the desk where Irons secretary waited. She had just flashed her badge and asked to speak to Irons when a voice from behind her shook her nerves. 

"I'll show the Detective in Marsha."

Nottingham.

She turned sharply and found herself meeting his midnight eyes, one of the few times she could remember having done so. He quickly lowered his gaze, one darkly gloved hand sweeping out to indicate the way. Sara followed after a moments hesitation. He was an unnatural shadow here in the bright florescent lights and sterile white walls of the office building. He was dressed for the outdoors, his dark hair under a cap and a long coat following his steps. She wondered idly if he had been trailing her again. Probably. Irons would want to know her every move now that she had the Witchblade. 

Nottingham remained silent as he walked a few steps ahead of her to guide the way, his face lowered. He stopped in front of Irons door and stepped to the side so she could enter. Sara glanced at his face as she passed and he turned to the side to avoid her eyes. 

_I love you. . .in unguarded moments._

Sara frowned down at the Witchblade for a second, not sure why it had felt that reminder was necessary. Sara then turned towards the metal doors and watched them swish open as always. Maybe he was worried she'd recognize him from the other night, that she would mention his helping her to Irons. She could only imagine the trouble something like that could get him in with old Kenny. She frowned when she spotted Irons standing before the windows of the office, looking pale and washed out in the bright lighting.

Speak of the Devil.

Irons turned as she entered, that polite and engaging smile on his lips, that same old hunger in his eyes. The hunger for the Witchblade.

"Detective Pezzini, I'm Kenneth Irons." He drew closer, his eyes running over her, resting one moment too long on the area where her jacket covered the Witchblade. Sara forced a brief smile as she nodded at him in greeting, but it fell away directly after.

"Mr. Irons I'd like to ask you about Thomas Gallo."

It had been the best reason she could think of to come after Irons. She knew Gallo had looked into the Rialto. Irons owned the Rialto. Gallo was now under heavy investigation due to charges of attempted murder. So she had every right to be here in the logical order of things. Not that logic had much to do with her life lately. But as a cop she liked to at least pretend she was following the rules of normal human behavior.

"Of course Detective, but please: call me Ken." He took another step and she felt the Witchblade react immediately.

_Pretender._

Sara raised one eyebrow and refused to back away. The Witchblade was letting her know didn't like Irons, but it was more than that. There was something else bellow the surface trying to make itself known. It felt like something scrapping away at her, nagging and clawing at the edges of her consciousness. She could feel her arm tingling with the need to push Irons away.

"Mr. Irons I think it would be in your best interest to tell me the extent of your dealings with Thomas Gallo." Sara told him, keeping her gaze direct and level, her voice an even tone. Irons simply stared at her for a moment, and she knew he was trying to get her to lower her gaze, back down. She smiled ever so slightly, letting him know she was aware of the game, and that she had no intention of backing down. Not in this lifetime, or the next. He finally looked away, turning his back on her.

"I'm afraid I wont be of much help to you Sara. . .may I call you Sara?" He turned his head to the side, watching her from the corner of his eye as he asked the question.

"I'd prefer you didn't." Sara said simply, the tingling in her arm growing stronger. He was doing something to aggravate the Witchblade, but what? Irons gave a tight, bland smile. 

"I wont be much help to you concerning Mr. Gallo. I'm afraid my dealings with him were somewhat limited. As I'm sure you know already, I own the old Rialto. Mr. Gallo was considering it as a business venture in the near future." Irons voice was lyrical as always, rising and falling in tones without emotion or depth save the slight taint of an ever present amusement. As he spoke he turned towards his desk and picked up a small gold timepiece there, his fingers running carefully over the engravings on its surface before he opened it and checked the time. 

He snapped it shut promptly as he turned back to her.

"But this isn't what you really came to ask me Sara, is it?" His eyes had that starved look again, and she tried not to smile at the irony of all of this. Irons was twirling on her strings now. And somebody was getting impatient, maybe even a bit cranky. The tingling in her arm suddenly became violent, and the Voice cried out again in anger.

_Pretender._

With a sudden clarity she understood what it was trying to tell her without words. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to use his connection with the Witchblade to feel her out. He was probing the Witchblade and her for reactions. Tricky bastard.

"No, it isn't." Sara held up her arm so the jewel, glowing with its own anger, slipped free of the covering of her jacket. Then Sara did something she'd only tried once before, in a moment of danger when the Witchblade had been on the wrist of another. She spoke back to it, commanded it.

_Shield Us._

And the Witchblade obeyed.

"Do you recognize this Mr. Irons?" she asked. She watched his face carefully, the tingling in her arm fading as the wrinkle of confusion between Irons icy eyes grew. He finally looked away from the glowing jewel and into her eyes. Sara was careful to keep her expression blank, her gaze level. His frown cleared after a moment and he smiled at her once more.

"The Witchblade." he whispered, his eyes touching it lovingly. Irons eyes followed its decent as Sara lowered her arm and the cuff disappeared beneath her jacket. He then met her gaze again as his long fingers reached into his pocket and pulled out a white card she recognized, handing it to her. She was careful not to let those icy digits touch hers.

"Don't hesitate to call either number Sara. I am an avid art collector and I have a whole room devoted to the Witchblade. I believe you would quite enjoy it." He then smiled in parting and turned, making it clear the meeting was over. The dismissal was abrupt and without the lingering hints he had always loved to throw her. For a moment Sara wondered if he had been unsettled by the exchange. She didn't know if that would be good or bad for her in the long run.

Sara pocketed the card and turned towards the doors without a backward glance. She knew he was waiting for her to look back, she could feel him watching her. The cold metal doors slid open once more to reveal Nottingham standing opposite the entrance, waiting for her. She stepped past the doors and into the hallway, waiting for the hiss as they closed behind her.

He never raise his head, again avoiding her gaze, only indicated that she should follow him. But what had she expected? It was Nottingham. In the year that she'd known him all he'd managed to give her was darting glances and what she liked to refer to as the kicked puppy look. The one that made her feel like she'd kicked a damn puppy. She didn't pretend to understand him or any of his actions, and she didn't want to even think about the whole possibility of them being related.

Sara took a corner too tightly and her left shoulder hit the edge, jarring her wound rather badly. She stopped short and took a deep breath as she gripped her wound. Nottingham turned abruptly, his wide eyes filled with something that looked like concern.

_Dark eyes filled with concern. A bullet flying towards her, covered in Nottingham's blood._

_You had never joined your blood with that of my line before now Sara._

Of course. She'd joined blood with Nottingham during the attack. Sara grimaced to herself. She should have figured that out right away, but she'd been trying not to think about that dream. She hadn't wanted any new mysteries to figure out. She'd concentrated instead on all the things she could change now. Danny was alive, and Conchobar. . .The sharp ache of longing was immediate, and Sara pushed that thought away again. She stood up straighter and let her hand fall back to her side. 

"Its nothing, just a little scratch." Her voice was weak, belying the confidence she had intended. 

Nottingham nodded once, his unconvinced eyes lowering to the floor as he turned to lead the way. Sara frowned to herself as she followed him. What the hell did this mean? Sara watched the silent figure and measured steps of the man in front of her carefully. It meant Nottingham had the blood of the other wielder's line running through his veins, thats what this meant. He'd exposed her to it during the attack, and now she had strange women in her dreams. Still, it didn't add up. Irons had said he'd cooked Nottingham up using Elizabeth Bronte's stem cells. If they were related, then shouldn't they already share blood? 

They had reached the elevator when he turned to her. She could tell from the way he was standing he was about to pull one of those vanishing acts. Before he could she dropped the bomb that she knew would gain his attention.

"So how's the shoulder Nottingham?"

He looked directly at her.

It wasn't actually that hard to figure out why he lowered his eyes so often. They gave away too much of his thoughts, his emotions. One look and you could see it all. Nottingham looked alarmed, confused, and there was a hit of something that could have been fear. It was the fear that bothered her, made her wonder what Irons would do if he found out she'd had a little help surviving the other night. She glanced up at the numbers above the elevator, unable to meet that look anymore. 

"Don't worry, I didn't tell Irons about that." She glanced back at him and his head lowered again. It was the way he remained as she stepped onto the elevator. "But you might want to get a thicker coat if your going to be doing Kenny's stalking for him."

The elevator doors closed on his dark gaze, and Sara found herself smiling. He'd looked at her directly again. Three times in one day, she must be unsettling him. It was a nice switch from the last time. Sara shifted in the elevator, trying to make the ache in her shoulder recede without much luck. The wound was healing faster then it should have, probably a gift of the Witchblade. Helpful, yes, but also involving a lot of pain. The past few nights had been miserable.

Sara looked down at the cuff where it rested on her wrist. It had been silent ever since she'd shot that order at it in Irons office. Sara smiled again as the elevator hit the halfway mark. It hadn't liked Irons, and she found herself having a bit more faith in its judgment because of that, but so far it hadn't reacted very much to Nottingham. It had liked him enough to resist her when she tried to attack him that last time. Which didn't sit well with her, even if the guy had taken bullets for her in both time loops now.

"I know I can't trust Irons," she whispered, touching the stone carefully "but how about Nottingham?"

The Witchblade hummed softly in response, the momentary light in its depth fading as the doors to the elevator opened onto the rest of the world.

* * *

Ian entered Mr. Irons office silently and waited as his master turned from his musings at the large windows that dominated the room. He dared a quick glance at the elder man's face and immediately lowered his gaze from what he saw there. His master looked thoughtful. He had hoped Mr. Irons would be pleased upon first meeting Sara Pezzini. Still, it could have been worse. He could have been angered.

"Sara Pezzini is an intriguing woman." Kenneth Irons began, his voice raising enough to be heard by the younger man, even if these words weren't truly for his benefit. Ian was often used as a sounding board for his employer's thoughts and forming plans. "A difficult woman, but still manageable. What I find intriguing is her connection with the Witchblade."

Ian's head raised a fraction, a question for explanation.

"No new wielder, pretender or true could possess the ability to block my connection to her through the Witchblade." His master's eyes became vacant as he lost himself in thought and memory. "Yet today the Witchblade protected Sara, shielded her from my invasion. There is only one explanation, and I can scarcely believe it." 

Irons turned abruptly, his eyes intent on Ian, and he returned to his subservient stance immediately. Irons was displeased with him for something, he could feel it like a weight upon his shoulders, on his very being.

"The Witchblade is protecting Sara Pezzini."

The silence of the room met that statement and it was only after a careful moment that Ian dared a response. He knew it would be unwise to in any way remind his master that he had suggested this possibility only a few days ago. This was the very reason he could now feel Iron's cold displeasure weighing down on him. He must allow Irons to retake the position of superiority.

"Then Sara Pezzini is a true wielder." he stated simply, his eyes darting once to gauge his master's reactions, "is this not what was desired?"

Irons eyes hardened, making it immediately evident that Ian had miss stepped in his attempt to placate his master's displeasure.

"What I desire Ian, is a wielder I can control. I cannot control Sara Pezzini if the Witchblade is protecting her from me." Irons mellowed voice became rough with the edge of frustration and he turned from Ian, his breathing heavy in the returning silence of the room. Ian respected that silence after Irons had spoken, watching the angered working of his master's jaw. 

There was a brief moment in which he considered telling his master about Sara's strange behavior of a few moments ago. She had known his name, and had recognized him from the attack in the alley. She had also indicated that she knew of his surveillance, which he could scarcely believe. The idea of telling Irons any of this was discarded as quickly as it had come. Somehow Sara had known the retribution he would face should Irons become aware of his actions that night in the alley. She had shielded him from that. He would respond in kind. 

Ian turned his attention to his master's angered form. He knew he had to offer reassurance. If his master believed his case with Sara Pezzini a failure then he would turn against her, and thereby the Witchblade. He knew nothing good could come from fighting the will of the Witchblade. 

Any other motives for his actions must be guarded against.

"Perhaps," he hesitated, waiting until Irons had shown his interest by turning towards him enough to offer a profile, "the wielder might persuade the Witchblade on the subject."

Irons completed the turn, facing Ian with the beginnings of a smile on his face, the seeds of this new plan shining with bright excitement in his eyes.

"Very good Ian." Irons wandered towards the large windows that dominated the office, gazing unseeing at the landscape as he began to construct the details of his plot. Ian watched his master twirl the gold timepiece in the hands he had clasped behind him.

"Sara could be convinced to ignore the Witchblade, or even change its mind." Irons smiled out over the city, the image reflecting back to Ian in the glass. "And what is the best way to convince a woman to ignore danger?"

Ian lowered his head, knowing the question was not meant for him to answer. Irons smiled as he made his way back to his desk. He sat down, leaning back in the dark leather with satisfaction and a thrill of excitement written on his sharp features. He placed the timepiece on the glass surface before him with a sharp click that was too loud for the sudden silence of the room.

"Seduction."

* * *

Sara threw her jacket on the couch as she entered the apartment. Danny had caught her at the pool tables after work and sent her packing it home. He was overreacting. There was nothing wrong with hanging out for a little bit. She hadn't even been playing. Sara frown, running a hand through her hair and then carefully rotating her left shoulder with a wince. Alright, so it hurt a bit, but she wasn't pushing it. She was fine, and sitting around here wasn't going to help her get better any faster. It was going to help her go insane a bit faster.

There were a dozen red roses sitting on her table, bathed in the moonlight poring through the windows.

Sara stilled, her hand slipping casually towards the side table next to the door where she kept one of her 'at home' pieces. The gun was cool to the touch as her fingers curled around it and drew it to her side. Her eyes darted around the room before she moved, checking her corners and shadows. She approached the table carefully, already having a feeling about who had left the roses and how they'd managed to get in. A white card stood out starkly among the scarlet offerings and she plucked it from their midst with one long and suspicious look at the shadows around her. The card was signed in a sharp, scrawling handwriting she recognized.

Kenneth Irons.

Nottingham had been at it again. She glanced at the windows, noting that one of them was unlocked. Heck, at least he'd closed it this time. Sara ran a finger down the silken petal of one o the large blooms, her expression thoughtful. This hadn't happened last time, and she silently wondered what had caused the change. The very, very quick change. She'd only seen Irons this afternoon, and she'd been fairly sure he hadn't been happy with the outcome of the meeting. Not to mention that she had barely left her apartment for an hour to go meet the guys. 

Sara bent down, smelling the flowers, surprised at the strong sent. The big roses usually didn't have the perfume of their smaller counterpart, as if you had to trade off size and sensuality somewhere along the way. The fragrance on these large roses was quite strong and, she noted as she ran a finger down long one stem, they were thornless. Somebody was going all out.

Sara turned and walked back to the window, flicking the latch closed again. Not that it seemed to be a deterent to her friendly neighborhood stalker. It had always annoyed her that they thought so little of her privacy, but she supposed she was getting used to it by now. Irons thought he had rights to the Witchblade, and as long as she held it he'd delude himself into thinking he had rights to her as well.

The moon was high tonight, large and luminescent above the rooftops of the city. It bathed everything in pale light and deep shadows outside her window. The stars had been drowned out by the lights bellow, but the moonlight overpowered them here, and Sara stood transfixed by it for a moment. She looked down at the Witchblade, cool and silent under the moon's pail light. 

Sometimes the world got so bad that she forgot how beautiful it could be. 

Sara frowned slightly to herself and rubbed a hand down her face. She was getting sentimental, which meant it was time to go to bed. There was work tomorrow, even if Danny would fuss. She had a thousand questions she needed answered, and sitting around here another day wouldn't make it any easier.

* * *

Ian watched Sara move from the window, wondering for a moment what thoughts had caused such a wistful expression to cross her face. The gift, perhaps? He frowned and forced down the sudden surge of something violent and possessive that passed over him at that thought. He should be pleased. He was pleased. If Sara yielded to his master's seduction then she would be safe, and he would be allowed to serve them both. He was pleased. Ian focused on the thought again. It didn't change the fact that he was most certainly not pleased.

He turned and leaned against the edge of the building opposite Sara's apartment. It was the same spot where he had taken care of her would-be assassin with such vengeance. Ian closed his eyes as he tried to focus his thoughts and force his heart to follow.

He must guard against these feelings, or be damned by them.

Ian pulled out the phone weighing down the pocket of his coat and pushed the button that would speed dial Iron's private line. A soft click was the only greeting before he began his report.

"She has accepted the offering. She seemed. . .pleased."

* * *

"The Dragon woos the Maiden." Mobius marveled, his eyes barely seeing his comrade. The younger man who stood before him had just finished his report. He had been sent to follow the Dragon's Flame, a dangerous mission now that the Dragon had turned against them. Now that the Flame stalked their shadows. Black Death. Silent Death. Their former brother. He took them one by one.

Hector Mobius' eyes glowed with a strange inner light in the darkness of Black Dragon's adopted home. A warehouse they had moved to only a few nights ago. They were moving every few days now, afraid of their own shadows and the death that stalked them by Kenneth Irons orders.

"The Maiden is the key."

* * *

The barren landscape of the Witchblade met Sara's eyes as she opened them to the dream world. A breeze blew hesitantly and something dark caught her attention at the corner of her eye. She turned sharply and there, leaning against the nearest tree, was the woman again. The other wielder. She smiled her mercurial smile in greeting and watched as Sara made her way towards the tree. She then opened her arms as if to offer Sara something.

"You have questions Sara, I have answers."

Sara simply stared at her for a moment, her green eyes reflecting the dullness of disbelief. Someone was offering her information? No deals, no catches, no need to pry and pull it out of them? Just a simple offer of information?

"So your telling me. . ." she hesitated over the words in half anticipation, half dread of the answer ". . .I can actually get a straight answer out of you?"

"If you ask the right questions, then yes."

"That sounds like something Nottingham would say," Sara snorted. She was about to turn away from the other woman when the wielder's words and her own response ran through her head again. The other woman's words had been slow, measured, as if she were trying to say something else with them. And now, after the mention of Nottingham, she was smiling.

This was about Nottingham.

Sara turned back to the other wielder, eyeing her carefully as she rolled this over in her mind. She was being offered the chance to figure this all out. She'd be able to find out who Nottingham was, why his blood had started these strange dreams. She might even be able to stop them, quiet the Voices.

"Who is Nottingham really?" Sara asked, eyeing the other woman carefully. She didn't move, didn't react, only stood there against the tree as if she had all the time in the world. Sara supposed that technically, they did. A soft breeze brushed at the other woman's dark hair, pushing the dark folds of her skirt against her legs. She turned her face into the breeze, as if enjoying it. Sara sighed after a moment, realizing that question wasn't going to be answered.

"Let me guess, wrong question?" Sara ground out in rising frustration. The other wielder turned back to her, that smile raising just the corners of her mouth once more. Sara turned away, pacing for a moment as she chose and discarded possible questions. She had to be specific, ask something that could lead to all the other answers. After a moment Sara turned back to the other woman.

"Irons told me Nottingham was created from Elizabeth Bonte's stem cells, that we were related." Sara took a deep breath and crossed her arms, spreading her feet as if preparing to take a blow. "Is it true?"

"Yes. . . and no."

"At that enlightening answer Sara felt a scream of frustration rise like denied fire at the back of her throat. Could she never get a decent answer out of these people? Just when she was on the edge of a real answer they pulled back, like cats teasing a mouse. 

"Dammit, why don't you just cut the crap and tell me what the hell is going on?" Her hands shot down to her sides, balled into fists of anger and frustration. The other wielder seemed unaffected by it, merely raising one darkly curved eyebrow at Sara.

"Its true that the man you know as Ian Nottingham was created using Elizabeth's stem cells, but that does not mean he is related to Elizabeth."

Some of Sara's anger evaporated, leaving behind the now familiar confusion. If Nottingham was created using Elizabeth's cells, then how could he not be related to Elizabeth? Sara had just opened her mouth to ask another question when the wind started up again and the edges of the horizon around them began to blur and fade. The last thing she heard before the darkness of sleep took her was the voice of the other wielder.

" Do a little research my girl. Expand your horizons, it will be good for you."

* * *

Vicki Po was sitting at her usual spot in front of a microscope down in the labs of the eleventh precinct, sipping a cup of coffee. She barely had time to look up from her notes when Sara came barging in like an agitated cougar.

"Vicki, what do you know about stem cells?" she asked abruptly, and then as Vicki opened her mouth, "And please, try to keep it as simple as you can. I think my head is going to explode if one more person says something cryptic to me this week."

Sara knew she should be asking for the lab report on the attack in the alley, but she had more important things on her mind, and Vicki could help her with a few of them. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about that dream all this morning and despite the response she knew she'd get from Danny, she'd finally decided to come into work today. She'd been told to do some research, so here she was, doing research.

"That kind of week huh?" Vicki asked with a sympathetic look over her glasses. She didn't seem to need an answer after looking Sara up and down once. She then shrugged in response to the question posed to her. 

"Well its pretty basic. Cells differentiate. Lung cells, kidney cells, blood cells, they're all different. Stem cells have the possibility of becoming any type of cell."

Sara frowned, realizing that told her very little. It didn't tell her anything about any relation between Nottingham and Elizabeth Brontes. She frowned down at the Witchblade, cold and unresponsive on her wrist, and then sighed. At least it was Vicki, she'd actually give Sara a straight answer.

"So if you took stem cells from me and used them in someone else, would we be related?" she asked, figuring that was as direct to the problem as she could get without explaining way too much about her life and leaving Vicki in no doubt as to her level of sanity. Vicki frowned and made a face.

"Not really. I mean the stem cells do contain your genetic information, but it would be more like an organ transplant. If you donate a kidney to a stranger, that doesn't really make you related." She shrugged, glancing back into the eyepieces of her microscope.

Sara mulled over this answer as Vicki turned back to her notes for a moment and jotted something down. So Nottingham might not be related to Elizabeth Brontes. She frowned slightly as a thought occurred to her. If Elizabeth's stem cells hadn't been used to clone or create Nottingham, then how the heck had they been used?

"Why, did someone ask you to donate some stem cells? I wouldn't recommend it, it's a pretty painful process." Vicki asked, making another face as she did so. Sara smiled for the first time that day, even if it was a wry sort of a smile.

"No, I just had some questions. I figured I'd go to my favorite girl in a lab coat. One more thing though."

"Shoot." Vicki said, taking another sip of her coffee.

"Why would you transplant stem cells?" It was the only other possibility, but she couldn't figure out why it would have been done. It was Vicki's turn to frown.

"Transplant stem cells? You mean augmentation? Well in theory you could do it for anything really, although they would be most useful in repairing nerve endings."

The witchblade warmed on her wrist, making the blood running through her fingers tingle. 

_Listen_

"Nerve endings?" Sara repeated. Vicki seemed to take it as a question and began explaining as she took another look into her microscope.

"Yeah, they don't really regrow by themselves, so you use stem cells instead." She looked up and shot Sara a smile, and Sara returned it, slowly nodding to herself. It wasn't exactly what she was looking for, but she'd file it away for later use.

"Nerve endings. . .Thanks Vick. I'll call you later in the week and we'll get that drink we've been talking about forever." They had been talking about it for a long time Sara reflected, glancing down at the coffee cup her friend had been drinking from all this time. That bottle she'd seen in the trash last time. . .

"Yeah, I've heard that one before. Don't work too hard Pez." Vicki laughed, shaking her head as she turned back to her work. Sara smiled at her and turned towards the door.

She stopped short when her eyes met with black ones. Vicki let out a startled gasp behind her.

Nottingham.

He took a step back from her, his eyes lowering in submission as Sara tried to calm her breathing. Jesus Christ, did he ever make more noise then a damn shadow?

"Hello Sara." His voice was dark and smooth as always, teasing in its own way. He knew he'd startled her. She frowned at him slightly.

"Nottingham. What brings you here?" She tried to keep her voice cold, but she was more then a bit curious. It was a unsettling. Nottingham had never come to the precinct last time. She knew she shouldn't expect everything to stay the same, not when she planned to change so much on her own, but it would have been nice to at least be able to know what Irons and Nottingham were up to.

"Mr. Irons wishes to extend to you an invitation. A special charity event to be held this Friday." he said. She arched one dark eyebrow at him, her hands on her hips as she faced him. So Irons was getting Nottingham to ask her out now? Interesting.

"I'm pretty busy here at work Nottingham-" She began, already hearing the weird sounds of protest Vicki was making in the background. She'd probably put together the words 'Mr. Irons', 'charity event' and 'Friday' and realized exactly who and what they were talking about. News about the upcoming AIDS benefit had been plastered on the newspapers since its announcement weeks ago. Sara couldn't imagine Vicki thinking going to an event with Kenneth Irons was a bad thing.

"He had hoped you might take this opportunity to explore your common interests." His words were suggestive, and his eyes trailed to her right wrist as he spoke, clarifying the message for her. Irons was inviting her to discuss the Witchblade. 

There was the tantalizing trail she'd come to expect of Irons. Throw out the lure and watch the wielder come running. Sara took a deep breath. Alright, so she might have to keep Irons busy. As much as she hated the idea, as long as he thought he was in control of the situation then she could stay on top of his activities. She might even get the chance to bring his operation down around his ears. Sara smirked at the thought.

"I'll think about it."

Nottingham nodded once and then turned as if to leave. As he did so Vicki got a good look at him and leaned forward, the rack of test tubes at the end of her desk getting pushed off the edge by the papers that shifted with her. Before Sara could react, Nottingham was there, his hand cradling the rack, the liquid contents of each tube barely moving within their glass casings. Vicki gave him a smile like he was superman and had just saved her kitten as he handed them back to her.

Superman.

"Nerve endings." Sara whispered, the blood draining from her face. She turned sharply as she refocused on the world around her.

"Nottingham-" But only Vicki was there, looking around in confusion as she held the test tubes. 

He was gone. 

* * *

"Hear you got a hot date Friday night Pezzini." Frank Smitty raised his voice as Sara passed and she stopped short with a visible wince. 

Sara shot Danny a glance out of the corner of her eye and noticed Jake looked up from his spot at the coffee machine. Both were giving her that 'And why haven't I heard about this?' look. It was nearly five and she'd been hoping against hope that she'd be able to get out of here before Vicki got the chance to pass along the conversation she'd heard this afternoon. Then she could have some time to think up a reasonable explanation as to how she knew Kenneth Irons and why he was inviting her to the charity event on Friday. She should have known better. Word got around here like nobody's business. And thats what it was: nobody's business. She turned on Smitty and glared at him. He just gave her a cheeky grin, knowing he was setting her up for a whole lot of attention she didn't want.

"Kenneth Irons' red carpet event eh Pezzini? Your moving up in the world." Sara made another face at Frank and leaned close.

"I'd kick your ass for this Smitty, but you know how lady like I am." She growled with one eyebrow raised. Smitty cleared his throat and retreated quickly, his head lowered to dodge possible projectiles. Sara glared at his back as Danny and Jake approached. Danny grinned at her, his eyebrows raised in question. Sara opened her mouth, prepared to send him running as fast as Smitty, but another voice surprised her.

"You know Kenneth Irons, Pezzini?" Bruno Dante stood behind her, his head cocked to the side and that snide look she knew so well written across his face. The expression was an insinuation in itself as to relationship he was obviously assuming between her and Irons.

Sara smiled sharply at him.

"We've got a few mutual acquaintances, similar interests. That type of thing." Let Dante think what he wanted, it would just make it that much easier to nail him and the rest of the White Bulls if he thought she was under Irons' protection. She turned to Danny and shot him a look.

"And I haven't accepted yet, so don't go making a big deal out of this."

The door to Captain Seres' office opened behind Sara and she turned to see him holding the door open, beckoning her in. 

"In my office for a minute Pezzini." Everyone turned back to what they had been doing immediately after that, their heads down to avoid whatever trouble was falling on Sara. She shot Danny and Jake a wry glance for this, and Danny shrugged once before clapping Jake on the shoulder and guiding the rookie out of the line of fire. Joe gave her a stern look when she entered the office and motioned for her to close the door. Sara grimaced, knowing she was in for it. The door shut with a sharp click, and Sara turned to find Joe leaning over his desk on his knuckles.

"I want to know what the hell happened in that alley Pez." He gave her a stern look and cut her off when she opened her mouth to answer "And I don't want to hear any of that bullshit you put on the report. I'm worried about you. Two of those guys were attacked by some type of a blade."

The Witchblade hummed on her arm, warning her not to mention its existence to this man. Sara frowned and rubbed the bracelet until the feeling subsided.

"I honestly don't remember a whole lot Joe, and what I do remember doesn't make a whole lot of sense. Whatever they drugged me with was pretty strong. It was all I could do not to puke on Gallo's shoes." It was as close to the truth as she could get. She hated lying to Joe, but he wouldn't understand. 

He didn't look convinced, and it was no wonder. Joe had always been second only to her dad in his ability to read when she was lying to him. It had always annoyed the hell out of her when she was a kid to walk in the door and have the truth written all over her face. She'd gotten better about hiding after Dad had died, but Joe was still Joe, and he knew something was up. She preempted further questions with one of her own.

"Maybe you could tell me something Captain. Something about engraved bullets at some of my crime scenes and cases getting closed before their solved?" She let the words hang in the air and watched the blood drain from her old friend's face. Joe glanced at the door and then walked around the desk. He took her gently by the shoulders and looked down in her face the way he had after Dad had died, when no one else had been able to look her in the eyes.

"Listen kid, I didn't bring you in here to fight. I'm just worried about you. I'm not going to be around to look after you forever." Sara smiled up at him. She already knew what he was trying to tell her. She really shouldn't be this upset about it. But that didn't stop the tightness in the back of her throat.

"You trying to tell me something Captain?" Joe smiled at her and took a deep breath.

"I'm retiring Pez." Sara looked down, trying to blink away the burning behind her eyes. She'd known this was coming. Joe had retired last time, Dante had become Captain. It was supposed to happen. She just didn't know why it had to be so hard to say goodbye. She'd always had trouble with goodbye. Probably because she'd never been able to say a proper one to either of her parents.

"Hey," Joe tilted her chin up, smiling at her. "I'm not dying here, I'm just taking it easy. Stay at home, drink a few beers, thats all."

Sara nodded, forcing breath back into her lunges and a smile onto her lips. It would be okay. He wouldn't die this time. She just had to keep her investigation of the White Bulls as quiet as possible, and Joe would live to testify. She'd keep him safe. Joe leaned in to hug her and Sara returned it tightly, the Witchblade glowing on her wrist.

She'd keep them all safe.

* * *

The wheels of her Buell screeched bellow her in an attempt to grip pavement on the sharp turn. Sara leveled out and caught the speed again, the details of the world around her blurring together once more. Only the road in front of her lay in focus, sharp and clear like the wind beating against her jacket.

Sara had managed to escape the third degree from Danny and Jake about Iron's invitation. She'd left quickly after the meeting with Joe and decided to take the long way home. She needed to think. She needed to plan. It was the only way she could keep her friends safe. The Witchblade glowed brightly on her wrist, casting its red light on her as she took the turns fast and sharp.

She needed to build a case on the White Bulls. Jake could probably help her there, but she wanted to have as much evidence as possible before going to him. It wasn't that she didn't trust him, it was that she didn't want this dragging out. The longer this dragged out the more danger it put her and her friends in. Joe hadn't survived last time, and Gabriel. . .Sara took another turn sharply, the protest of the tires screaming into the silence of the back road. She didn't like to think about Gabriel. She still had nightmares about the look in his eyes, that silent plea for help. . .

She already knew where she could get most of the information. She'd have to be patient about gathering it, when being patient was the last thing she wanted to do. Dante already had his eye on her, and any hint that she knew he was dirty would mean trouble. Sara's hands tightened on the handles of her bike, the knuckles turning white. The only good news was Dante's interest in her connection with Kenneth Irons. Sara was sure she could use that to her advantage somehow, but it meant spending time with Irons. On her list of least favorite things to do, spending time with Irons was right next to getting stabbed in the back. Oh wait. It was the same damn thing. 

Sara grimaced to herself and took a deep breath as she pulled into her spot. She glanced down at the Witchblade once before she cut the engine and kicked down the stand. No signs of danger. She pulled off her helmet and headed for her apartment. 

She was getting a little frustrated, that was all. Maybe it was knowing she'd be stuck biting her tongue and cow towing to killers for the next few months. Maybe it was the dreams about the past. Or maybe it was the visions, voices and the half answered questions about Nottingham and the other wielder. Sara chucked her helmet and jacket in their usual spots and collapsed into her couch. After she kicked off her boots her attention was pulled to the glow of the stone on her wrist, and she sighed tiredly.

At least she'd gotten _some_ answers today.

The Witchblade enhanced the senses. It physically changed a wielder who had passed the Pariculum. Strength, speed, the power to heal wounds that would kill another, and veritable immortality. These were the gifts of the Witchblade. Elizabeth Brontes had been changed by the Witchblade. Her stem cells contained unique genetic information that allowed her to possess these and a host of other abilities. Sara looked down at the veins of her wrist, dark blue lines bellow skin encased by the metal of the Witchblade. She traced one of the dark paths with her finger, the sound of her heartbeat overpowering the silence of her apartment. 

It was all in the blood. 

Elizabeth Bronte's stem cells enhancing Nottingham's nerve endings, and god knows what else. Add to that a few of those Black Dragon superman cocktails and you had yourself a human weapon. Somehow he also possessed the blood of the other line of wielders. He was more deeply connected to the Witchblade then she'd thought. It explained a lot. Why she heard the voices so clearly around him, perhaps even why the Witchblade refused to work against him. 

The Witchblade wanted her to know this for some reason. 

What all of this didn't explain was Nottingham's connection to the other wielder. His blood ties to her had started this mess. Had Irons stolen that woman's genetics as well? Sara curled up on the couch, one finger tracing the stone as she searched her sleepy mind for the answers. Her eyes drifted closed, and in the silence of the room before sleep took her she heard one final whisper.

_He always had an eye for a fine brood mare._

The dream scape rushed in on Sara. Trees on a desert plane and the shadows of pre-dawn filled her vision. She turned to find the other wielder behind her. Her dark eyes were downcast, her hands held behind her back, but a smile played at the corners of her full mouth. It was a familiar position of subservience, but it didn't belong on this woman. With a sharp rush, everything clicked together.

"Nottingham, he's-" The other wielder met her eyes as Sara spoke that name, the smile coming to full bloom on her lips. She inclined her head at Sara once.

"My son . . .and yet, not really my son."

Sara shook her head, not sure if she really wanted to know all this. Nottingham was an heir to the Witchblade. 

"Irons used your genetic information and Elizabeth Bronte's stem cells to try and create his own wielder. . ." The other woman made a 'tut 'sound, shaking her head at Sara playfully. 

"Not only my genetic information Sara. I may pride myself on many things, but it takes two to make a child." Her voice was playful and her eyes flashed with amusement as she spoke. Sara took a step back, her brow furrowing in confusion. She'd thought Irons had only been using this woman's genetics, but she was implying. . .

"You mean you and. . .Irons?" The other wielder laughed, the deep sound very much like a large cat purring. She turned and began to circle Sara casually.

"Don't sound so surprised darling. Kenneth Irons can be, and has been, many things in order to get his hands on the Witchblade. Kind, seductive, charming, and cruel. He is not an easy man to love, but surely an exciting one." She smiled again, but this time it was distant, as if she were remembering. For a moment Sara felt lightheaded and the echo's of distant voices teased at the edge of her awareness. The feeling faded quickly and the other wielder was watching her once again.

"You fight the Witchblade." She whispered, as if sad. Sara ignored the comment as the wind around them began to pick up. She recognized the signs immediately and turned back to the wielder.

"What's your name?" She asked, raising her voice to be heard over the tempest.

_To name is to know. To know is to control. . . Sara._

The woman smiled, the wind around her almost drowning out the words as the dream scape faded into darkness.

_"Diana Nottingham."_

This time consciousness returned quickly, the world coming into a sharp, quiet focus as her eyes flew open. Her apartment was dark save for the moonlight poring in from the windows and the soft glow of the Witchblade faded away before her eyes. It left her in silence with the sound of her heartbeat and the knowledge that she wasn't alone in her apartment.

Without another thought she called the Blade as she flew out of the bed, bringing it to the throat of her enemy. In the moment when it should have savaged its way through his flesh and tasted his blood, the Blade retreated as if it had never been called at all.

Nottingham

* * *

NEXT CHAPTER: Sara puts Ian on the path to discovering who he is. Irons continues his attempts to seduce Sara, and the Black Dragons attack.

Author's Note, the Second: My thanks to everyone who has reviewed. You all don't know how much it helps me to see your responses. I'm glad to see your all enjoying my efforts so far, and I'm sorry again for the wait. For progress reports on future updates please refer to my bio here at FanFiction.net. I've been updating it periodically to let people know how the new chapter is going.

While I love Sara, there aren't enough interesting women in the Witchblade world. Dominique Boushere came close, but was killed before she actually reached 'interesting'. Perhaps the producers felt another strong woman in the show would detract from Sara? Whatever the case, don't be surprised when you see new characters popping up here and there and old characters explored more fully. Some of these characters will be female, some male. Some will be good, some will be bad. All will play their parts in the web of the Witchblade. 

Sorry to Jake fans who were looking for more about him and his new 'partner'. I changed my mind mid-stride due to a few new ideas that sprang up the other night, and because of that Jake's part in the storyline wont come in until later (Chapter Four Jake Fans). I'm sure you'll all like it when it gets here. Interesting times for poor Jake are ahead. 

To those who asked: Yes, I will be bringing in Conchobar and Gabriel. Sara's got her reasons for waiting. Those two will both appear in later chapters and have their own secrets to reveal and be revealed. I know a lot has been very similar up until now, but less and less will be the same as we go on. Things are about to get wildly different. New and old villains will appear, and there will be a death Sara isn't expecting. . .


	3. Loyalties

Witchblade: Blood Lines

(An Alternate Season Two/ Alternate Reality Fan Fiction)

by Lady Cailin

Summary: Alt. Season Two. An accident reveals to Sara the events of the previous continuum, and a whole lot of things she didn't know about the Witchblade, her past, her future, and the blood that binds them all.

Disclaimer: Witchblade and related materials are copyright Time Warner, TNT, Top Crow, and subsequent companies. This Fan Fiction was not produced, and is not intended to be reproduced, for profit. No infringement of said copyrights is intended.

CHAPTER THREE: Loyalty

Consciousness returned quickly, the world coming into a sharp, quiet focus as Sara's eyes flew open. Her apartment was dark save for the moonlight filtering in from the windows and the soft glow of the Witchblade, already fading away before her eyes. It left her in silence with the sound of her heartbeat and the knowledge that she wasn't alone in her apartment.

Without another thought she called the Blade as she flew out of the bed, bringing it to the throat of her enemy as her feet met the cold floor beneath her. In the next moment, when it should have savaged its way through his flesh and tasted his blood, the Blade retreated as if it had never been called at all.

Nottingham.

His dark head was bowed as always, his hands calmly clasped before him. She lowered her arm and tried to slow the frantic beat of her heart. He hadn't even bothered to protect himself when she had gone to attack. Had he known it wouldn't work? Or was he really _that_ suicidal?

_My life is forfeit to you._ _But consider this. . ._

"It appears your little toy doesn't work on me Sara. Perhaps because you don't really wish it to?" His voice was silky in the darkness, and held that hesitant element of teasing again.

"More like it doesn't want to." she snapped out angrily before thinking about the words. Sara flinched when she realized what she had said. Just what she needed her enemies to know, that her greatest weapon might not work on them. Nottingham looked surprised for a moment, but it faded quickly as if that revelation made sense to him in some way. She wondered again, did he know about his heritage?

Sara turned towards the kitchen, knowing he would follow. He hadn't yet delivered whatever message Irons was throwing out as bait this time. She'd get something to drink and try and gather her battered confusion tolerance before he laid down whatever tantalizing trail Irons had decided to send her off on. Just as she turned she heard it, the barest of whispers:

"Blood of my blood."

She stopped abruptly, her back still to Nottingham's dark form and her spine straight in leashed agitation.

There were a lot of things to worry about when considering Nottingham's connection to the Witchblade. Things like threats, and allies. Men could not wield the Witchblade. Irons had failed, and others had lost their hands in the attempt. But Irons didn't have the blood of the other line of wielders flowing through his veins. Nottingham did. It increased his chances of succeeding in any attempts to wear the Witchblade. It also increased his threat to her as a wielder.

_If_ he knew about it.

Knowledge. That was the thread on which the whole world seemed to dance. Who wanted it. Who had it. Last time it had been Irons and Nottingham leading the game, but now Sara knew something Nottingham didn't. Something Irons didn't want him to know, which could only mean it was knowledge that would lead Nottingham farther away from Irons. She knew what it was like to dance on Iron's strings, and Nottingham had probably been living with it his whole damn life. Nottingham had always been a bit of a wild card in this game. Without Irons, would he be another enemy, or a new ally?

Time to find out.

"I'm not your sister," she turned back to him slowly, her words sharp with her determination, "or your cousin or niece, or whatever it is you think I am."

"Sara," he hesitated for the space of a breath, "there are things you don't-"

"Elizabeth Brontes is not your mother."

He took a step back as if she had struck him, his feet spread and his hands curling to fists at his sides. Sara took a step forward, watching him closely as he refused to meet her eyes. His eyes remained lowered, searching the floorboards of her apartment as if his salvation lay in the lines of the wood. He was afraid of what she was saying, she realized. Afraid because she had knowledge that she shouldn't, afraid because with it she was threatening to throw his world into chaos.

_You're afraid of losing control._

The silence of the room was deafening as she continued to watch the questions fly behind Nottingham's eyes. For a moment she hesitated. She knew what it was like to find your life balanced on a cliff edge, ready to fall. All you want is to stop that next moment when the ground will slip out from under you, but you can't.

_You're afraid of losing control._

_Don't worry, you never had any to begin with._

He looked up from his frantic perusal of the floor, meeting her intent gaze with a look of almost childlike confusion, and for a moment she had hope. Without Irons controlling him, warping him, Nottingham might just turn out alright. If he could just get past this step that would take him off the cliff. She took another step towards him, reaching out her hand as if to comfort him. It seemed to be the trigger his control needed. He fell into his usual position of subservience, his eyes downcast, hiding himself away behind a fall of dark hair.

"I've come to deliver a message."

Her hand fell back to her side, and after a moment she squared her shoulders. He had fallen back into his role, and she found herself doing the same. It was safer and more comfortable in all its strangeness, but left her feeling irritated. The Witchblade purred beneath her skin in comfort, sensing the frustration that road her below the surface. She ran a hand down her arm and across the stone's surface, acknowledging the reassurance it had offered her. If it was one thing she had learned in the past year, it was that the answers came when you were ready for them. If you were smart, and a little lucky, they came before it was too late. Nottingham would come to her when he was ready.

"So talk, I've got work in a few hours and I need to get back to sleep." Her voice was tired, but still sharpened around the edges by her frustration. Nottingham glanced at her once through the curtain of his hair before speaking.

"There are dangers that surround you Sara."

"Tell me something I don't know," she snorted, turning back to the path that would lead her to her kitchen and sanity. Nottingham followed after a moment, and she ignored him as she set about preparing a cup of tea. Coffee was a cop's best friend, but Pop had always pushed a cup of jasmine tea on her when she couldn't sleep. She was pretty sure he'd stolen the idea from Mrs. Chow, who had lived across from them most of Sara's life. She kept some around for some of the more stressful days. Tonight it was either this or take one of the pain killers left over from her shoulder, and she'd resisted any form of inebriation after obtaining the Witchblade. Even if it would ensure a good nights rest.

"A difficult task. Your connection with the Blade. . .you seem to know things you should not."

He sounded confused, and she left the silence to lengthen as she filled the kettle and set it on the stove. Let him think about that for awhile and he might even get up the guts to ask her about what she'd told him tonight. Sara ignored him as she pulled out a cup and the box of loose jasmine tea. She pulled off the lid and inhaled the soft scent, letting it calm her tense nerves.

That was when she felt it.

Since the Witchblade had come to her Sara had become extraordinarily aware of her surroundings, especially her immediate surroundings. Right now she was sure of one thing: Nottingham was close. Closer then he should be, close enough to touch her. She could only remember him being that close a few times before. Sara closed her eyes to block out the distraction sight offered and the feeling immediately intensified along with the scent of jasmine. She could almost see him in her mind's eye, his gloved hand hovering a breath away from her, gliding over her hair, her shape. . .

Her eyes flew open and she set down the container sharply, her heart beating too fast for the second time tonight. She felt a shiver run from her wrist to her spine and turned quickly to tell him to back off.

Nottingham was standing more then a reasonable distance away, his eyes downcast again and his gloved hands held behind him. The image struck her as odd. Nottingham almost never held his hands behind him like that. They were always clasped before him, respectful, but prepared for the possibility of an attack. She frowned and ran a hand firmly down her arm, dispelling the lingering memory of that shiver. She had almost convinced herself that the moment before had been her imagination running wild when he spoke.

"There are things that elude every man's touch." The sentence lingered in the air like a caress, a carefully worded message. His eyes crawled their way up to meet her own. A brief flash of dark beauty, followed by a look of. . .shame? Guilt? She couldn't grasp the emotion before his eyes darted back to the tiles of her kitchen floor.

"Knowledge is often one of them."

Nottingham had always had a way of saying things without really saying things. Figuring out what he was really trying to tell her had never kept her up at nights. His little mysteries had just been piled up and lost among all the other mysteries the Witchblade flung into her life on a daily basis. She had tried to pay attention when he was telling her something important, but she'd ignored him more often then not. She'd always lumped him with Irons, figured he was toying with her just as his boss did. He'd warned her about Dominique, about Jake. He'd even warned her about himself. He'd told her to run if she ever saw him again. It was amazing how many times not listening to him had gotten her in trouble.

Maybe it was watching everyone she cared about die. It had made her grow up. Or maybe it was getting the chance to really think before she acted. Even she could admit that she wasn't that good at the whole planning ahead thing. She went with her gut reactions, always had as a cop. Maybe it was knowing more about him that made it all different this time. Either way, she was listening more often. Listening to the Witchblade, listening to Nottingham.

She just didn't know if she wanted to hear what he always seemed to be trying to say.

He turned from her suddenly, circling the counter, looking anywhere but at her.

"There are those who will try to take the Blade from you Sara," his voice was all business again, and she knew it was Irons words he was delivering now, "Those who will do anything to obtain it."

"But Irons can protect me, is that it?" she asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter once more. He stilled, and she could feel the new tension in his frame.

"Yes."

The urge to throw the offer back in his face, and thereby into Irons', was almost overwhelming. She still remembered the words she had spoken to Irons the last time. She had told him she'd do it on her own, and she intended to. But if she wanted to bring down Irons and keep those she loved safe, she had to play along. The knowledge left the bitter taste of barely leashed anger in her mouth.

"Like I said, I'll think about it." she said finally, giving him the same answer she had this afternoon.

He nodded once and then stepped to the side as if to leave, hesitating briefly as some further rending of loyalties rushed across his features.

"Trust the Witchblade Sara, and it will lead you to those you can trust."

The kettle began to whistle sharply and she turned to pull it off the stove. Sara knew before she turned again that he was gone, the force of his presence no longer filling the room around her. She sighed and pored the water for her tea. She leaned back against her counter with the cup, watching the shadows of her apartment and trying to convince herself she could do this without getting everyone killed again. The curtains behind her pillows billowing inward, carried by moonlight and cool breeze after Nottingham's exit.

If she didn't know any better, she'd say he'd been warning her not to trust Irons. It could be she just wanted to believe in him though, the way the Witchblade seemed to believe in him.

She sipped her tea, cradling her suddenly cold hands around the warm mug and watched the curtains move in the wind.

Soon the real battle would begin.

* * *

Ian watched Sara sip her tea from the building across the street, his eyes never leaving her face. More then ever he worried for the future. Sara had not yet given a definitive answer to his master. It was an unusual turn of events considering she usually reacted immediately and honestly to any given situation, relying on little more then instinct and her own intelligence to guide her. Irons would not wait for her to decide. Irons would force her hand, and thereby force Sara out of his grasp. Once that happened lines would be drawn, and Irons would set himself against the Wielder. The knowledge weighed heavily on him.

Ian was convinced Sara was a true Wielder, perhaps more so then any that had come before her. So many of the Wielders faced the Blade with distrust, anger, and fear. Sara did not seem to fear the Blade, although he had detected a certain bitterness when she dealt with matters concerning it. Did she trust the Witchblade? She must, to know all she did. How else could she know about Elizabeth Brontes? He turned away from his watch as he came to the real reason for this sudden flux of unstable emotion. Elizabeth Brontes, his mother. Or so he had always been told. Now it appeared that Sara and the Witchblade might know differently.

Part of him knew only disappointment for the possibility. It would mean his father had lied to him, not unexpected, but still painful. It would mean he was not a descendant of the warrior bloodline of the wielders. It would mean that he shared no bonds with the women for whom he had always had great respect and admiration. Yet there was another reaction, something that wanted to roar within him his satisfaction, his freedom.

If Elizabeth Brontes was not his mother then he had as much right to love Sara as any other man.

Ian pushed away from the rooftop, returning to the streets below and the car that waited. He would be allowed a few hours of rest before the dawn. He would have to choose a path and clear his mind before he reached his bed, or sleep would remain illusive. No one approached him as he walked silently down the street towards his car. It was one of the more unsavory neighborhoods in the area surrounding Sara's apartment, but he had become a frequent fixture here in the recent weeks. After that first night, the filth of the streets had stayed in the shadows, afraid to approach him, afraid of the consequences. He entered the car and started the engine, pulling from the space and onto the empty streets.

Ian knew what he was, something unnatural, something created for his master's use. These were the daily reminders he had lived with, some of the first lessons he had learned. He lived only because Iron's had willed it. He was not even the first of his kind, and had been given the memories to prove it. Ian had few memories from the first. Many surrounded Irons, perhaps because he was a common link between the boy he only half remembered being and the man he was now. He remembered various lessons, brief moments of kindness that he himself was jealous of. He ignored many of these memories. They were either too painful or too detrimental to his own training for him to focus on and preserve them within his own mind.

But there was one memory which held a golden seat above all others, cherished in the recesses of his mind as none of his own memories were save his first glimpse of Sara. It was the memory of his mother. Not Ian's mother, but the boy's. The First's. She was Ian's mother only in a matter of genetics, but he had stolen the memory of her for himself and refused to let it die with the boy. She was the only thing he had ever taken for himself, this memory of safety and kindness, and he often felt like even more of a monstrosity for having stolen her. Yet the feeling had never been strong enough to make him relinquish her to the grave of the boy who had given her to him.

He remembered dark hair and the tune of a lullaby. She was turned away from him in his mind's eye, illusive even in his dreams. Her form was shriven in the light of the moon and her voice hummed away an unnamed fear he knew had once been there with them. Whatever it had been, he could not remember and it did not taint the peace Ian felt with the memory. He had always thought this was Elizabeth Brontes, humming a throaty lullaby to her son. It was what he had been told. What Irons had told him, and like so many other things, something he had never questioned. Perhaps because he knew that if Kenneth Irons willed it, no other answer would be found.

Ian pulled into the garage three miles from Irons estate where he hid the vehicle each night. He locked the door, pocketed the keys and closed the garage before turning to the road beyond. Shadows fell strongly here, barely opposed by the light of the waning moon. Ian became one of them easily, making his way towards Irons home and his own bed.

Sara offered another answer from where she stood, just beyond the bounds of Irons control. She had offered it to him on the condition he step outside those bounds as well. It was not something he was sure he could do, even for Sara. His duty, his training, was too deeply ingrained. Irons was too central to his life, his very existence.

He focused on his breathing, realizing its pattern had become erratic with emotion. It was something he hadn't had to concentrate on since the very early days of his training. His focus was drifting, along with the focus of his life. Even Irons had noticed, warned him from the new path that had appeared. It was ironic that it was a path Irons himself had trained Ian for: The Wielder. Sara.

The air around him was chilled and he breathed carefully so that the warmth of his breath would not give away his position as he came upon the house. The guard at the gate was noticeably surprised when he stepped from the shadows and into the large lights which illuminated the world around the mansion. He glared sharply at the man, aware that he had been on the verge of dozing off just now, and the large guard immediately took up a more alert position. Ian carefully removed a glove and placed it on the keypad next to the door adjacent to the main gate. After a brief scan it opened for him and Ian replaced the dark leather. He made his way towards the house in silence.

The Witchblade and its Wielder had been almost as central in Ian's life as Irons. Yet they had always been distant figures of the future. Now the future was here, the time had come, and he was about to be torn between the two giants around which he orbited. To choose now would be to give up the still strong hope that his two masters would become one force. He could not do that, not yet.

Ian moved through the house silently, making a sweep before heading towards the small room he had been designated years ago. From it he could easily access almost any room within the house. The mansion was a maze of secret corridors and hidden rooms which only Irons and Ian knew the full extent of. In one such room lay in frozen grace the form of Elizabeth Brontes.

_Elizabeth Brontes is not your mother._

He would find the truth. If lines were drawn between Sara and Irons, he would not be able to straddle them forever. The very attempt would tare him apart. He must find in himself the answer to these questions of loyalties. He must be armed with the truth if he was to face the inner battle which would follow.

He slipped from his clothes quietly and prepared himself for bed. As he moved between the cool sheets his hand reaching for and found the comfort of the hilt of his sword, still warm from being taken from its place at his side. The weapon was always within reach and had not been otherwise since he had received it. It was the weapon of a warrior, and meant more then a mere mass of steel to him. It was the embodiment of all he had once hoped to be when he was the boy that he had never really been.

* * *

Her alarm clock blared out the arrival of seven am with a vengeance, and Sara rolled out of bed feeling like she'd never been there. She'd hardly slept after Nottingham had left, and it didn't promise to be a good day. It was with barely leashed annoyance that she dressed and slapped on her sidearm and extra piece. She headed for the coffeepot. It was set on a timer and allowed her at least one cup before she headed in for the day, but the dark brew was still streaming from the coffee maker when she reached it. She was ahead of schedule this morning, but it didn't put her in a better mood. Something felt wrong, out of place and she felt tense because of it. The feeling that there was something she needed to do road her as she sat down at her counter.

Sara scribbled angrily on a sheet of paper while she waited for the coffee to finish dripping out. She stared at the six words that had been released from her pen for a moment, transfixed by them. The feeling of unknown need ebbed slightly. They'd been waiting to be written all night, crying out in her head for their significance to be acknowledged. But she knew they weren't words for her to acknowledge, they were for someone else.

Her coffee maker made the horrible grinding, buzzing sound that announced it was finished and she tore her eyes from the sheet of paper. She made her coffee quickly, trying to ignore what had just happened. It didn't work. It was as if she could feel the presence of that paper behind her, screaming for attention. She took one gulp of the dark brew, and without having intended to do it, slammed the cup down on the counter. Coffee sloshed across the surface as she turned back towards the pad, ripped the first sheet from its place and made her way towards the window. She grabbed a roll of tape off the desk on her way, feeling tense and frustrated. The feeling slowly dissolved as she fixed the sheet face out to the inside of the window.

Sunlight streamed through the yellow paper, outlining the dark pen of the words as she stepped back and looked at her work. The words were backwards and barely legible through the paper, but she knew them too well not to recognize them still. Three names, six words. Elizabeth Brontes, Diana Nottingham, and Sara Pezzini, in that order. The last three true Wielders, in the order in which they had held the Witchblade. She glanced down at the Witchblade, quiet on her wrist. She felt the same quiet within her now, and wondered who had really been feeling that previous tension.

"Sometimes," she mused as she touched the gem, "I'm not sure who is wielding who."

The thought disturbed her and she turned, grabbing her jacket and helmet in one quick motion as she fled the scene of the crime. When she burst out the door and into the unforgiving New York winter, she stopped to look back up at the window Nottingham reserved for his entrances and exits into her life. The yellow sheet of paper was clearly visible, even from the street.

At least she could take a perverse sort of pleasure in knowing she was the one being cryptic this time.

"So I don't even get a heads up that your going on a date with a billionaire? I thought we were friends Pez." Danny faked a hurt look and received a very rewarding lifting from the corner of his partner's mouth. Sara had been in a bad mood all day, and if Kenneth Irons was the cause of it then he wanted to know. If not, then he wanted to know that too. He tended to be a nosy kind of a guy that way.

"I'm not going on a date with a billionaire," she drawled, raising an eyebrow as she shuffled through the paperwork littering both their desks. "I've been invited to a charity benefit that a billionaire happens to be throwing. Its not remotely date like in any sense of the word."

"That's not how Vicki's telling it." He grinned this time, a cheeky one that was sure to both annoy and amuse Sara. She rolled her eyes at him and continued to focus on the file in front of her, a sure sign she was attempting to act like nothing out of the ordinary was going on. Which meant something out of the ordinary was definitely going on. Danny wondered silently what it was, and how long it would take him to get it out of her.

"Did she tell you I was invited by one of his employees, not the man himself?" Sara asked, her voice getting an underlying edge that told him he was starting to annoy her a bit. Danny grinned.

"Actually, she said quite a bit about him. I thought we were going to have to hose her down." The expression _that_ comment garnered from his partner was as near to priceless as they get. He chuckled and pulled out another file. One of them had to get some work done around here. They still had follow up interviews to do with the rookie later, and Sara had been staring at the same file for about half an hour without showing signs of much progress on finishing its paperwork. She'd seemed to have zoned out, which was why he'd started teasing her about the gossip flying around about her and Kenneth Irons. He didn't like it when she started brooding. It usually lead to bullets and explosions.

"I'm not dating Kenneth Irons, _or_ his buddy Nottingham," she growled, putting it in black and white for him and letting him know she was getting tired of the conversation in the same sentence. Danny took the hint, but just because she'd cut off that line of questioning didn't mean he couldn't start another. Something was up, he was sure of it. He was going to find out what it was.

"No need to get edgy. I was just hoping you'd gotten over those soulful bad boys," he teased, but received no comment from the desk across from him.

"So if its not a knew boy toy then what's up?" he asked as casually as he could. He busied himself filling out the first page of the closing reports on a case they'd finished just before the Downtown Museum had blown up, leaving only Sara alive.

"What do you mean?" she asked, taking a sip of her coffee and avoiding his eyes by browsing that same old file again. She should have had it memorized by know. Oh yeah, something was up.

"You know what I mean Pez. You've been acting weird, and I don't just mean this knew habit you've got of staring off into space for hours at a time." He stared at her directly, willing her to make eye contact, to tell him what was going on.

Her eyes shifted to the door, away from him, and a sudden silence stretched between them. That was new too. No proverbial fists swinging, no defensive growls or fast exits. Instead Pez had these knew quiet spells, simple refusals to answer questions. She'd done it about the Downtown, the Alley, and now about all of this. He didn't like it, something was up and his partner was cutting him off. It wasn't just him either, she'd put this distance up with everybody. He had this bad feeling she was cutting herself off from the world, and it was going to get her killed.

If he knew one thing though, it was that when someone decided to shut you out you couldn't force your way in. He'd either figure it out on his own, or he'd have to wait for Sara to let him back in. Either way, he didn't have to like it. He frowned at her in the continued silence, his own decent mood dissolving.

"Forget it. Lets just collect the rookie and go."

* * *

Kenneth Irons looked out over the city, his alabaster complexion and gray suit making him appear smoky and unnaturally white in the light coming from above them. He had the look of a man who was unchallenged master of all he surveyed. Behind him in the shadows knelt Ian Nottingham, a dark contrast to his master's ivory nobility. He was black obsidian among the darkness, smooth and warm, ready to melt away if not for the time and hardship that had shaped him. He stood outside the unnatural lights which illuminated Irons, warmed by the light of the fire beside him instead. It flickered and flared, dancing across his features.

A pagan prince kneeling before the marble grace of a roman emperor.

Ian waited silently for his master's reaction to the latest news of Sara Pezzini. Inside him a new emotion was howling for release and he struggled to hold it under tight reign. He forced his face to be expressionless, his body to relax, and he carefully lowered the fiery coals of his eyes to the well polished floor. It was a paper folded innocently within his pocket that had started this new fire. The paper, and the names scrawled across its surface. He had read this paper, absorbed its meaning, and come before his master. When he had seen those familiar features something inside him that he didn't know he possessed had roared to life:

Defiance.

The years of servitude, a lifetime of training barely restrained him. His rational mind knew he must control it, but below that the beast still growled in its cage.

The fire behind him snapped.

"So Sara has not yet accepted my invitation," Irons mused over the evening reflection of the city below "She shows more caution then I thought possible of her."

"It would be wise not to underestimate Sara Pezzini. I suspect she is a more worthy vessel then we. . .you. . .give her credit for." He could feel his masters eyes upon him, and he knew his mistake, knew he should be taking steps to correct it. But instead he remained motionless, barely controlling this new wealth of emotion inside him. He had not known these feelings were there, and was unprepared for their intensity. They were savage emotions he had only ever flirted with before, and now they were directed at his master. He had to control them.

Without much examination, he knew where these feelings came from. A sense of betrayal, of loss. His father had lied to him, and worse: His father had stolen his mother from him. His attachment to the memories of his. . .the boy's mother were stronger then he had ever realized. He felt as if he had been robbed of something he couldn't put a name to.

Elizabeth Brontes was not his mother. Diana Nottingham was. Research through barely-there channels had shown her to be the only child of a rich English nobleman, the sole heir to his empire when he died. A death which may have been orchestrated by Ian's own father, and seen the Witchblade into Diana's possession. The signs were subtle, but Ian had served his master for far too many years not to recognize them.

How the woman had died was a mystery yet to be solved, but there was one thought that swirled through his blood like a revelation. She had a son. Her estates, an empire really, lay in holding waiting for him or his children to claim. They lay in Kenneth Iron's holding. Sara might call it motive.

He had lived his life in the pure knowledge of the sanctity of the Wielders, the nobility of his bloodline and his absolute duty to protect those that were chosen from its ranks for greatness. Now he felt himself swept into a sea of doubt. His mother had been a peasant, a pretender. It left him feeling unclean and he shuddered inwardly at the thought.

He closed his eyes and bent his head lower and the beast inside clawed at him for his subservience.

Control. He must control it.

"You seem to have forgotten your place Ian, as well as your duty," Irons voice slid like a razor across him, cutting and wounding the thin bindings to which he now clung, "you have been neglecting your duties to me in favor of those to Sara Pezzini."

Irons waited one tense moment, and Ian carefully lowered his head that fraction needed to satisfy his master. Ian forced himself not to flinch as Iron's hand curled around his shoulder.

"I trust you will rectify this in the future?"

There was only one answer.

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Mobius smiled as he watched the Maiden from the shadows. She was a warrior as well, a goddess of old. The Dragon was unworthy of her, and the Flame afraid to touch her. He would have to take her from them. The darkness closed around him, warm and comforting. He no longer feared it. He had stolen the shadows from them as well, they bent to him now.

_**kill her. . .**_

They spoke to him now.

_**kill her. . .**_

Whispered in black comfort what he must do to bring down the Dragon.

_**kill her. . .**_

He must kill the Maiden.

* * *

A night out playing pool and getting drinks with Danny and Jake and helped to relax the wary tension she'd had all day. Two days already since she'd left that note for Nottingham taped to her window. The charity benefit was this weekend and there'd been no reaction. Some part of her kept expecting Nottingham or Irons to show up at any minute with swift punishment on their heels. Hell, threatening his control of his pet assassin might just be the quickest way to get Irons to turn against her again-

_A ebony skinned man with intense black eyes. A dragon roaring its flames across a marble room. A winged monstrosity of muscle and wrath painted upon a warehouse wall. _

Mobius. Sara stopped abruptly, several feet away from her bike. It had been daytime then, and that had happened well after the charity event, hadn't it? Things were happening out of order again.

_You're in danger Sara. Run. Run now._

Nottingham's remembered voice still ringing in her head, she grunted and shoved herself into motion, darting down the alleyway beyond her bike and out of sight. Mobius had shot at her last time from a vehicle, hadn't he? She scanned her horizon quickly, trying to spot a familiar van and her dark-skinned attacker. She never saw him, had no hint that he was there, until the man stepped from the shadows that seemed to almost cling to him. She skided to a halt in the gravel, her breath leaping out in painful gasps for air fueled by adrenaline.

"The Dragon woos the Maiden fair and sends his Flame to follow," his smooth voice resonated in the stillness of the night around them, "What interest can such a woman hold, who distains a Maiden's ways?"

"Poetic. Mildly insulting, but poetic," she muttered around the pounding of her own heart.

What in the hell was he doing here? It was too early for this. What had changed the timeline?

"Just so, but not as compared to the message of your death," There was a white flash of teeth that was too disturbing to be called a smile as he pulled his weapon from his side and aimed it at her. He couldn't miss, not at this range.

The voice of the Witchblade welled up inside her, stronger then she could ever remember having heard it before. Beyond its words were the hissing whispers of a thousand voices filled with disgust, hate, anger. The intensity of its reaction startled her, drove her into heated action.

_Our Enemy._

_Battle._

The gauntlet responded, metal scraping to growling life on her wrist as the first bullet left the chamber and sped hot through the cold evening air toward her. Sparks flew and she felt the impact of the bullet as it was sent skidding harmlessly into the darkness around them.

Fevered, mad eyes widened in Mobius' dark face.

"Their interest might have something to do with this," she mocked, allowing the blade to slip free with a metal hiss. She swung abruptly, but the blade met and scraped along the brick wall her target has stood in front of only a moment before. A low, savage growl left her throat as she turned towards the direction her prey had darted in the shadows.

_There were lifetimes in which she had hunted such creatures in the night._

The odd thought, the truth of the sensations behind it brought her up abruptly. Foreign emotions pumped through her veins and Mobius sprinted down the ally, increasing the distance between them at an alarming rate only Nottingham could have matched. Sara pulled back, forcing feet which desired nothing more than the chase to stop and root themselves.

She needed to understand what was going on here.

_Dark creatures, shadows moving beyond the fire's light. A danger to the world since time began. A lifetime in which she was worship as a goddess of the moon, hunting them beneath it's light. The infection. That which must be cleansed._

_You are the cleansing._

The rush of feeling and information was disorienting and she stumbled briefly, away from the prey that had already disappeared and back towards the safety of the lights of men.

What in the hell was that?

* * *

By the time she reached her apartment, sliding off her bike and shaking her hair out of her helmet, Nottingham was already waiting for her. Sara wasn't surprised. Irons had to have felt whatever the hell that had been, and there was no way he'd have settled for remaining in the dark about it. Unfortunately for them both, Sara didn't have any answers either.

She was honestly still freaked out about the whole thing.

Nottingham's eyes assessed her with a quick intensity and for a brief moment a look of wild concern skated across his features, tightening his eyes and the skin around his full lips.

Her stalker was worried, how touching.

"Guess you're here for my RSVP, huh?" she joked, breezing past Nottingham and up the stairs that lead to her apartment. He followed hesitantly, as if he wasn't quite sure of his welcome. Although, now that she thought about it, she'd never actually invited Nottingham into her home. He had always just kind of showed up whenever he wanted to drop another mystery in her lap or give her some dire warning.

Her helmet met the counter and her jacket met the couch on her way to the kitchen. Nottingham closed the door behind her with an almost inaudible click. She grabbed a beer, popped it open quickly, and allowed herself a long draw of the cool brew before turning to address her shadow again.

She might as well get this over with, the thought of it had already been making her feel slightly nauseas the last few days. Better to bite the bullet, and maybe put off any further reactions from Irons to these new developments.

"I guess you can tell Kenneth I'll be at the museum," she bit out, rubbing a hand against the tense lines of her neck.

Nottingham remained motionless, barely standing out from the shadows inside the dim lighting of her apartment. His eyes though, they had no trouble standing out. Dark, intense, watchful. She hadn't thought the man could watch her more closely than he already did, but it appeared she'd been wrong.

He really had been worried, she realized.

"Mr. Irons will be pleased to hear that Sara," he said finally, casting his eyes downward. His throat worked silently for a moment and she wondered what he was trying to make himself say, or perhaps make himself not say.

"My master is connected to you Sara, through the Witchblade," when he spoke his voice was strangled, as if he were choking on the words. She merely raised one dark eyebrow at him, taking another long pull from her beer. Maybe that piece of paper had gotten through to him a bit more than she'd originally thought. He looked. . .conflicted.

"That explains how you always seem to show up when something happens with it," she said, feigning ignorance.

"You were in danger tonight," it wasn't a question, but a statement. Sara nodded in agreement with it, gripping the counter behind her lightly just in case her hands were shaking still from the adrenaline and Witchblade-fueled fire. He seemed to expect her to fill the silence that followed with an explanation, a complaint, a question. She wasn't going to give in to fear and curiosity this time. She had meant what she had said to Irons in his death throes. She would find out for herself. But she would also string him along for as long as she could, until she was strong enough to fight Irons, and win.

It was merely a more terrifying prospect after that evenings odd encounter. There had been something different about Mobius, something that still left her nauseous with a soul-deep feeling of _wrongness_. What it Irons wasn't the biggest threat she was currently facing?

"Why are you here Nottingham? What do _you_ want?" She asked instead.

He seemed confused by the question, as if no one had ever asked him about his own motivations before.

"To fight beside you. Protect you," he said softly. The words were a promise, a caress that left her uncomfortable with their honesty.

"No," she drew out the word, and then threw down the gauntlet "that's not why you're here _tonight_. So just get on with it so I can get some sleep."

He shifted cautiously, uneasy under her scrutiny.

"…Who was Diana Nottingham?" came his suffocated whisper.

Sara had never heard a voice so small, so hesitant to breath a question that was so important. The Witchblade hummed within her veins, and she knew she couldn't just _give_ this to him. He needed to earn it, to hear it from his own lips if he was really going to take it in.

If he had any chance of freeing himself from Irons control.

"Why don't you tell me," she asked. She watched him now as carefully as he had always watched her, trying to will him into taking the step off the cliff that lay before him. She kept her eyes on him calm, steady. It was all she could offer him in reassurance as he began to speak in a voice rough with emotion.

"Diana Nottingham was the wielder before you Sara. A-" his voice broke and he began moving around the room with less grace then normal. Emotion in motion, "A Pretender. She was reported to have been the lover of Kenneth Irons. . . ."

He stopped moving as suddenly as he had begun, his gloved hands tensing into tight fists at his sides, squeezing in a way that made the leather protest audibly.

"She may have had a child with him. . ."

He wandered off and his shoulders pulled forward in a non-verbal sign of some kind of pain. Sara felt a flash of sympathy, she could only guess at what that outburst had cost him. God only knew what kind of conditioning Irons had put him through. Black Dragon obedience training would have only been the beginning.

"She wasn't a Pretender," she corrected after a moment. His reaction was instant, sharp and biting.

"Impossible. The bloodline of your family has been carefully observed and recorded. . ."

Sara didn't bother arguing. Instead she confidently unbuttoned the slim row of pearled buttons from her collared shirt and shrugged out of the warm cloth, leaving only the sleeveless white cotton t-shirt beneath. He had stopped talking. Nottingham barely breathed as she threw the crumpled fabric onto the counter, watching her as she slowly approached him, her hand coming up to move the strap off her shirt and reveal the twin circles that marked a Witchblade Wielder just above her heart.

"Two circles Nottingham," she glanced down at them as she spoke, and when she looked up it was to find his eyes transfixed on the skin beneath her fingers, "Dark, and light."

There was open admiration in his eyes, they raked over her revealed flesh with a boldness that she had never witness and she suddenly realized how cold the apartment was when he looked away abruptly. An unwelcome blush crept up her cheeks and she stepped back, unsure why she suddenly felt . . .

Bewilderment pulled at the smooth lines of his face, a muscle in his jaw working as his eyes drifted across the horizon beyond her windows.

". . .A second bloodline?" he whispered.

Sharply, he turned on her and she was suddenly reminded by the lethal fluidity of his movements who he was. Ian Nottingham. Bodyguard. Trained killer. She'd let herself feel sorry for him, let the Witchblade's desire to free him from Irons cloud her perception of the danger he could represent.

Sara didn't back away from him, but her shoulders squared and she set her jaw, eying him carefully again.

"Why-" his voice cut off and before she could speak, stop him, or even move he was across the room. Large strides brought him over her bed, out a quickly opened window and soundlessly into the night beyond. The white curtains floated for one heartbeat next to a billowed black coat, and then he was gone.

_Shit._

Sara dropped down onto her counter as the tension in the room suddenly released. She had no idea what that reaction meant, much like everything else that had been happening recently.

Why, indeed. That was the question, wasn't it? Why would Irons keep this from Nottingham? Kenneth had always taken steps to insure only he had control of the Wielders, the Witchblade. So what threat did Nottingham pose that Irons would keep him so close, and so ignorant?

Sara glanced down at the dark gemstone as she moved to the couch to take off her boots.

She could only hope she hadn't just made a terrible mistake.

* * *

"Pezzini, phone! Line 2!"

Sara swallowed her mouthful of hot black coffee and reached for her phone, nodding to Danny as he signaled he was heading down to evidence with Jake.

"Pezzini. Go," she grunted, glancing out the window at the frosted New York morning spilling gray and cloudy before her.

"Looked in the morning paper yet, Sara?"

Nottingham's voice was low, too purposefully mysterious for the light of early morning, gray or not. A memory ran across her nerve endings, illusive. This had happened before though, she was sure of it.

"What?" she asked intelligently.

"The morning paper, Sara. Take a look at it," he urged. He sounded almost. . .playful. Definitely better then the anger and confusion from the night before. Still, somewhat unreasonably, it annoyed her.

She realized as soon as she picked up the paper on the edge of the desk what she was forgetting. She cleared her throat before she read the first paragraph.

"Organized crime figure Thomas Gallo committed suicide last night. Jumping from the balcony of his heavily guarded apartment after screaming something about an avenging angel. Gallo was out on bail on pending charges of murder and the attempted murder of a police officer."

A pause, allowing her to take in the significance. Nottingham had known, then and now, how badly she had wanted revenge on Gallo. She couldn't deny if felt good to know that scum was off the streets, that he'd been punished for everything he had done. God knew there was no way the justice system would have been able to manage it. Especially not with the White Bulls still in action. Gallo had been one of their contacts, and she knew down to her fingertips that they would never have allowed Gallo to go to jail.

"It looks like Tommy Gallo had a crisis of conscience," Nottingham's voice was mild, speculative. It almost made her smile. Almost.

"Either that or he had help," she responded wryly, chucking the paper back to the desktop. Part of her still wanted to be angry that he had broken the law, that he had killed someone. However, Gallo was someone who had wronged her personally. Not once, not twice, but three times. It was harder to keep the lines of justice clear when it was her own loved ones that had suffered. When she still had so many to protect.

"Perhaps.. a bit of both. Thank you for the information Sara. It proved most useful, and has relieved a crisis of conscience I myself suffered from."

She snorted into the phone. Trust Nottingham to kill her enemies as a thank-you gift.

"Anything I can do to keep you from throwing yourself in front of any more bullets Nottingham," she said half-seriously.

"Are you concerned for my safety Sara?" he asked, detecting the thawing in her tone.

She paused, because that was yet another question she didn't quite have an answer too yet.

"You keep telling me to trust the Witchblade. It has its own opinions about people, and I'm still trying to figure out whether I agree with it about you. I'd rather have you alive until I decide." It was the most honest answer she could give him. Somehow, it felt like the time to be honest.

"Don't worry Sara, I will always be here for you," he gave the promise almost reverently.

Back to uncomfortable truths she didn't want to deal with then. His crush was less important than figuring out what the Witchblade wanted from him, what Irons wanted from him, and whether or not he was an ally, or an enemy waiting to happen.

"Hey, Ian," she barked with a little more authority.

"Hey, Sara."

"Get a thicker coat."

She hung up.

* * *

Author's Note:

…Surprised? I suppose a decade between updates will do that. I'm in need of a beta if anyone out there is interested.

This chapter was intended to settle a few more things, but I've decided that I can't push these much beyond twenty pages without making it unreasonable to read a chapter in a single sitting.

Next Chapter: The battle with the Black Dragon approaches, and Irons begins his seduction of Sara in truth. Sara is hit with a death she was not expecting and it drives her to some rash interactions with those she cares about.


End file.
